Sparks
by Ruth Lechner
Summary: Missing persons unit has to find a 12 year old girl while the Joker is running loose. Updated frequently. Crime/Mystery. UA - Universe Alterations from Batman Begins onward through movies
1. Part I - Chapter 1

I chose Commissioner Gordon. I don't know why.

As I walked forward in Gotham's streets that were covered in snow, one hand in my coat pocket with the other shielding my eyes as I called out,

"Commissioner Gordon?"

"Got it!" He yelled from a manhole tucked discreetly in the corner of the road. I was walking over as he pulled himself out with strain, a walkie talkie in his hand.

My voice and face went to concern without my conscious planning, even though I felt nothing inside. I never do.

"Are you okay?" I called out. He coughed into his fist from smoke underground before finally lifting himself out completely.

"I'm fine," he looked like he was thinking. "Let's get this down to the lab," he said to his partner before we left.

* * *

"Forensics came back positive," my partner slapped the envelope of the test results on the desk. He was a black man in his early thirties. He had his jacket off exposing his uniform sweatshirt and gun holster. I had my own sweater on, gun holsters visible on both my side's. He had his hands on his hips and was biting his lip after shaking his head.

"Donovan," I said. "Don't get ahead of yourself on this case." I said with a factual but slightly compassionate tone. He was too close to this case. She was family. I was considering reporting him to our supervisor to get him off the case.

"She -" he put his hands on the steel chair tucked into the table and hung his head, shaking it. I wanted to go now and report him but I knew I was meant to stay and let him ride out his emotions. Or something.

"She -" he said again and put his eyes in his hand. I tried to keep a professional relationship with Donovan. I was so blessed that I said thank you to the sky when I was assigned to be Donovan's partner. Never believing anything until the facts were in front of him, much older than me which meant maturity, along with his experience - it was a dream come true for me. I never had to chit chat with him because he was a quiet guy and too old with too much experience of seeing the worst side of things to want too much socialization anyway. He was stick to the rules, straight as a ruler when it came to cop's honor, and too tired of things to bother taking anyone's shit if they gave it to him. Family meant everything to this man. She was a distant relative, a niece or second cousin perhaps, being only 12 years old. But it was breaking this man in front of me.

I didn't want to cross the boundaries of professional to personal, but I came over and pat him on the back. He lifted his head as I did and shook his head, wiping his nose on his arm a little, but it was so casual and small that no one would notice.

"No," he sniffed, fiddling with the manila folder on the desk as I stared at him. "No, I'm fine."

I was going to go and report him as soon as he left the interrogation room.

He rubbed his nose on his arm again and turned to leave. He closed the heavy door behind him as I watched him.

He was one of the straight cops in this city. But I couldn't be too sure.


	2. Chapter 2

"Very good, Sparrow. I'll get right on it. Thank you for reporting to me." My supervisor said.

* * *

Missing persons cases were my specialty, as were my partner's.

I turned the black car to park. Less obvious than a decked out police car. The siren was in my glove compartment if I was ever needed.

I got out the car in a deserted street and went to a black door, questioning the inhabitants about a case I was closing. I had a feeling it would be over soon. The couple said something that gave evidence towards one of two suspects, the slimier of the two. I thanked them, got back in my car and headed towards the station in the center part of the city.

* * *

Unfortunately a lot of missing persons cases, if they weren't solved quickly enough, ended in death for the missing person. I got to my desk and put my jacket on the back of my seat. Believe it or not we had prank calls from people claiming to find the missing persons, or to lose somebody. We've been trained to detect the real calls from the pranks but it made me sick. I slammed down the phone, but not too much to create a big noise and filled out some paperwork on my case before putting it in a paper holder for files going out from my desk. My desk was the neatest out of everyone's in the room. I was a perfectionist most especially in my work. I didn't like even thinking that I was a perfectionist - that was a flaw in itself. I was not supposed to have flaws. That would mean I wasn't perfect. I turned to my computer, getting the address for the suspect before I checked to see if my cuffs were on my belt and I picked up my jacket on the way out.

"Workin' hard, Sparrow?" jeered a coworker who had his boots on the table reading a newspaper and eating pie with a fork as I got out through the door. I didn't slam it. I ignored him.

* * *

The man I slammed onto the back of my car grunted as I cuffed his wrists. A confession from this man was unlikely when I'd take him to the police station to question him, but he ran and I also had enough evidence to get him in front of a judge and jury.

* * *

The boss nodded over and over as I handed her the file. I had a supervisor who was the boss of my boss, and there was my boss who I reported to about my cases. My supervisor, on Gordon's word, let me work on the biggest missing persons case that they were still trying to keep from the media. Otherwise we would not come into contact.

My boss smirked,

"You're on fire, Sparrow." She said admiringly. I didn't say anything. She leaned back and fanned herself with the file before glancing at it and throwing it down on a paper holder similar to mine for papers leaving her desk.

* * *

With my report filed and case closed, I went to my desk to get my things for the next case but when I saw the light from the sunset shining in from the window on my desk, I was surprised that the time had gone by so quickly. Logging off and shutting down my computer, I cleaned up my desk a bit, put the trash in the metal fishnet cut trashcan under my desk which I emptied every week so no corrupt police officer would find any information and sell it to someone, and put my pencils and pens back in the holder. Putting in my chair I criticized myself for not cleaning up fast enough - surely anyone can do it faster than that. I twirled my jacket and put it on next to the board where I pinned all my unsolved and 'closed' cases, all old but I refused to put them down.

I left, turning off the lights, closing up shop. Everyone had gone home early.


	3. Chapter 3

Donovan came over to my desk, putting down a file. He picked up the ones I had. I had a mouthful of salad that I was trying to finish quickly to ask him what he was doing but then I saw he was taking my old file cases and handing me the one on the missing twelve year old girl. I nodded and thanked him quietly, my mouth now free. He gave me a look, told me to be careful, then took the files to his desk. We'd been switched cases. Gordon was the one who got me on the high profile case. But that needed my attention now so I was taken off of my other ones. Since Donovan knew them they were handed to him solely. Other cops were on other cases.

My certificate of becoming a detective cop sat on the wall next to me. I was the only one proud enough to even show it. Much less frame it. But I was glad. Gotham was a city full of crime, in need. I didn't want to be a cop in any other city with a low crime rate. I wanted to be where I was needed, where my help would make a difference.

I looked up when a man entered our unit and it was James Gordon. He looked around and when he spotted me he came over.

"C'mon, rookie. We need ya." I could tell he was fond of me.

* * *

I didn't feel bad for Donovan. I felt bad for potentially looking bad for not feeling bad, so I got straight to work after a concerned glance my partner's way. But then I remembered I never liked having other people's approval anyway and then the worry stopped. Having people's approval was just added attention aside from any negative attention that distracted me from my work because people are trying to talk to me or are giving me stares, and it's all distracting from the job I'm trying to do.

Since Commissioner Gordon's taken a shine to me, I was going to use it to further my career. But I felt conflicted about it. On a personal level, it would mean having to take his attention and interaction, all the while trying to work. I'd have to smile, nod my head, and do the things I generally didn't like, which was the whole reason I avoided social interaction as much as possible in the first place. It was only to keep his attention, so I could work on this case throughout the duration. But I hadn't been trying when I caught his professional attention. Whatever it is I'm doing, I'm doing something right.

* * *

I expected to be told to wait in the cop car while Gordon and Edwards, a detective, interviewed the parents but Gordon got out of the car without treating me like a subordinate and went to knock on the door. I stood by the car door, holding it on the top and the side. I hated this. Now I didn't know how to behave around him. Authority figure, partner? Am I supposed to act like I'm a full fledged detective even though I haven't been promoted yet? What? I was so confused. And what I hated the most when I was trying to work, which was always, was a foggy head. I didn't do drugs, drink alcohol, and I didn't even smoke. It hindered everything I needed to do by being a police officer - my ability to enforce the law. I specialized and transferred to the missing persons unit, but everybody started out a cop before that.

* * *

"I know this is hard, ma'm, but anything you can tell us would help. Even the smallest detail you don't think is important could lead us to a suspect." Gordon said softly to the crying couple on the couch, the man holding his wife with an expression of sorrow and his wife crying into a tissue.

They both nodded on their own, and began talking to Gordon. Edwards was leaned against the kitchen counter with his arms folded while the rest of us sat in the living room not too far away. Gordon was in front of the family and I had taken a seat as well but to the side so I could see their expressions and hear their words but without having the spotlight on me and the pressure of having to listen and write on my notepad.

The couple told us nothing new that hadn't already been on file by the previous police officers that interviewed the couple, directly after it happened. We left, the three of us walking to the car where I sat in the back, by the way.

"Told us nothing new," said Gordon.

"Their story's consistent then." Edwards said as he pulled the car door open and got in. I got in quietly.


	4. Chapter 4

Not many people were good at what they did, or enjoyed what they did. I had the luxury of both. Some people became cops or detectives just to become them. Then they don't do a very good job at it. Finding missing people was my niche, and if I was one of the few people good at it I had to do it, lest leaving innocent people's lives to others not as diligent, thorough or perfectionistic as I. I enjoyed it though, it was a challenge and I could go home every night knowing I did some good out there. I was doing a job that others couldn't do like myself.

* * *

I didn't drink coffee, it was bad for the system. The coffee machine in the police station was shoddy but people drank from it anyway. I avoided it but went for the pot of hot water, pouring some into my metal insulated drinking cup where I had powdered vitamins and minerals that the water mixed with to make a drink. I walked away from the coffee station, swirling a plastic stirrer in the cup. A woman came into the break room to get something from the microwave, and looked at me enviously. As I walked down the hall several people walking or at their desks looked up and noticed me, staring as I walked past. Since I've gotten to work with the commissioner I only annoy people more than I already did. It was easy before to write me off as a dedicated rookie, and a rule stickler, because of how young I was and frankly I was short too, but now I've got some recognition from the higher ups, others were envious. I'd understand the envy if they worked their butts off yet I still got picked, but that wasn't the case. I think these people were bored, but they had plenty of work given how every time I complete paperwork it can't be turned in because they haven't started theirs yet. Then the general consensus is I turn it in early, even though it's actually at the deadline, and I look like a suck up to the boss, who hates me for that by the way. I'm responsible for my job and my coworkers for theirs. I'm not going to potentially lose my job just to fit in. That was crazy.

When I got back to my division I saw all the desks were empty. Then I registered the sound of the TV and the sound of the Joker's voice. I walked out with my cup still in my hands and saw all the cops surrounding the small TV mounted in the corner on the wall and it was a new threat from the Joker.

I walked back into my divisions unit, sitting at my desk, bored by it all - the Joker and the police's obsession with him. Everyone wanted a high profile case, but it was the low profile, every day cases that needed to be taken care of first. If they weren't stopped, then they were allowed to escalate into people and cases like the Joker. Because they weren't stopped when the operation was small. It only made sense. And then it takes the Batman to go after the Joker. Then everyone here hates Batman for doing their jobs.

I got on my computer and finished up some work, typing away. I clicked the mouse a few times and there was silence as I looked at the evidence we had so far. Then I clicked back to my document and drafted out my report for our next move. After we do something we're always exhausted and don't always recount things fully, so I like to write an outline in my reports so it's not only less work when I can't think but have to write it out and turn it in, but it also prompts me for the things I need to include in the report that I might forget to mention. I hated it when I submitted the official report and I only just remember something. It plagues my mind for hours, and it is also unprofessional. I can lose my badge for not officially filing something correctly. My forgetfulness can be taken as obstruction of justice. Other cops did it I didn't doubt, but because they were dirty they got away with it. I wasn't going to do that.

I didn't notice everyone come back in the room and reluctantly take a seat at their desks, but they noticed me. Someone bumped past my desk on purpose, muttering,

"Show off.", bumping into my filing system for papers going out and without looking at him I righted my papers before typing again on the computer.

* * *

Commissioner Gordon was treating us to coffee. Edwards, Gordon and I sat at a small coffee table nearby a cart that sold coffee. I declined the coffee and drank from my mug. Edwards and Gordon drank their coffee, the latter tiredly but Edwards didn't look exhausted. Our whole morning consisted of trying to get leads. I was energized by the challenge, but that was balanced by the physical exhaustion of running around town so I was flat-lined - not tired, not energized. I would be able to keep going. Edwards, I admired because he wasn't breaking a sweat yet. I could see why Gordon brought him in on the case. I didn't know him personally, he must be in a senior level position, which was above my level.

"All morning, no leads." Gordon sighed. "This girl's life is at stake. We need a break."

"We can go back and double check the witnesses statements." Edwards offered decisively, immediately. I could learn a lot from him, I realized. I loved being here, able to learn from both Gordon and Edwards, the best.

I knew there was nothing in the witnesses statements, I had a good memory. But if I said something they wouldn't believe me or think I was trying to show off. I would have to suggest an alternative, or let them waste their time with something I know won't work but can't tell them or I'll look like a hot head. They take hotheads off cases if they think they can't handle it or will get in the way because of their hotheadedness and they're sent back to pushing papers.

"What about the people who saw her last?" I said.

"They're our prime suspects." Gordon nodded. "Nothing to go on, though." He muttered.

"What about the parents?" Edwards said, his natural hard stare only at Gordon. "They're in the corporate world, the attention on them could increase sympathy, donations and contract deals."

"Plausible, but they're not that kind of people."

"How do you know that."

"They're not. You can tell if a person is truly upset or not. I've seen both when questioning and interviewing people, son." Gordon said without a hint of patronization. "They are genuinely upset."

It was quiet between the three of us, but I wasn't uncomfortable, I was just thinking. Gordon sipped his coffee that was only half finished and Edwards had barely touched his.

"There are no witnesses of the actual kidnapping before she went missing, but there are the two people who saw her last. Personality, socialite. How does a socialite just go missing?" I said.

"We could interview them again." Edwards said, looking at me.

Gordon shook his head in response to my question, raising his styrofoam cup to his lips.

"That's what we're going to find out."

* * *

Usually I had a feeling of who did it. Between the people we interview, the family of the victim, associates and friends of the victim, and the witnesses, the person who did it usually stands out to me. Sometimes, they slip under my radar, when they are really clever. When they play the role of caring friend or consoling family member. It's rarely simple in the police force, especially the missing persons division. What made this case so rare was the lack of obvious or glaring suspects. We had suspicions, but there was no glaring solution or obvious path to follow in solving this case. I never switched off. The case stuck in my mind forever. The cogs turned even while I performed my routine functions, showering, eating, and I even dreamed of what I did that day. When I woke up, my first thoughts were always about my cases or of puzzles I can't solve. My brain does it all the time with my old cases - cold cases, officially closed cases - that would not put it down. I didn't give up. I never, ever gave up. It wasn't a philosophy or motto on life, it was something I just never did. I don't think I know how. People tell me often when talking about things, 'oh I couldn't get it to work, so I just gave up', or 'my dog kept eating my sofa, and I kept tryna tell him - no! but he kept doin' it and I was like, ah well...' but I didn't do these things, not ever, not once in my life. I sometimes copied people's words and used those phrases, but I never dropped something or gave up on a puzzle. So I always thought about the cases I never solved. This morning when I woke up from my dream something made sense that didn't before, and I went into work, putting the information into my computer. It was an angle I'd never covered before, and I ran it by Donovan, who was officially on the case.

He gave me a look from under his eyebrows.

"You're supposed to be workin' the missing girl case."

I just looked at him with my arms folded. I mean really, did that have a question in it that I was supposed to answer?

"I am. But this came to me. I'm sure it'll point to the second suspect." I turned disinterestedly and walked away to my desk. He started chuckling as I turned in my seat and picked off the wall on my board the picture of the missing man.

He chuckled more, turning to his desk and picking up his pen. "How does this happen to you, Sparrow? You're a whiz kid."

I scrunched the picture up, it was hard because it was on good paper, and put it in the trashcan. I didn't expect to solve that case. All of the cases I couldn't solve didn't make sense, they had loose ends and the evidence didn't add up. Sometimes one had to look at it in the right angle before things became clear. It was an unexpected resolution to the case, but it came to me and now it's solved. I turned to my computer and sent Donovan the reports I've filed and all the other documents and files concerning the case before I got on the bigger case of my career.

Sherry Davis. 12 years old. Black, 5"1. I looked over the other information about her. She was a cheerleader, captain of the debate club, had high grades, a wide circle of friends. I glanced over at Donovan. He'd been doing well so far, while being off the case. He hadn't asked me how things were going, but it was likely he would, or he avoided me because he knew I wouldn't say anything and found Edwards. Perhaps, but it was a long shot, that suspicion of mine.


	5. Chapter 5

We knew she was underground, or had been at some point. We found a green sweater in the underground sewers, which Gordon had pulled out of the manhole, and forensics matched it with Sherry Davis's DNA, by some hair follicles and skin cells. Other than the sweater, we had no leads on her whereabouts. Gordon got squads of police officers to search the underground networks and sewers while we were out questioning people. The next thing to do was put out fliers and posters of the missing girl. Gordon was torn - the poster may mean sightings of the girl, and possibly more witnesses and people who have seen her, but that also meant this couldn't be suppressed from the press anymore.

The family handed out fliers and put up missing person's pictures on street lamps and the side of buildings. I suggested putting her face on milk cartons, that had worked before. Not every missing person could get on a milk carton or be so famous as she was about to be, but high profile cases required it.

Gordon tiredly went out of the front doors of the police station to deal with the swarm of the press there, lights flashing and people rushing forward with microphones and cameras.

"Yes, we're doing everything we can to find Ms. Davis. An official statement will be made tomorrow at City Hall. Until then, good day." Gordon nodded kindly at them then returned up the steps to the police station with the press rushing forward and shouting questions at him but couldn't get forward because of the three police officers restraining them.

Gordon took my arm once he was inside, taking me with him. My hand removed from my gun holster.

He leaned in and said lowly to me,

"You're one of the straight cops. Don't tell _nobody _what we talk about when we're on this case. You hear? It could mean this girl's life or death." We stopped. I looked at Gordon's face.

"Of course, Commissioner Gordon." I said softly. I hadn't even thought of doing that - I wasn't going to tell anyone.

He nodded, satisfied.

"Get Edwards. We're going through the back door, I think." He chuckled nervously about the press in front of the double doors.

* * *

There was a cop car behind the police station and Edwards and I went to get in it but we stopped in our path when there was a guy in it eating an enchilada. Gordon said,

"This way," Moving to a simple, navy blue car he got in the driver's seat. Edwards and I exchanged looks then one of us got in the front and the other in the back. I put on my seat belt.

"Why not the cop car, sir?" Edwards asked. I rolled my eyes.

"Because it's less obvious." I let Gordon answer instead of me. I had to bite my lip to not say it. Edwards looked at Gordon.

Gordon drove out from behind the building and passed the press without them glancing our way. I looked out from the back at their swarming around the front of the police station.

Gordon took a breath from the front seat, saying lightly,

"Now we're out of that, we're going to do some more digging."

"Sir?" Edwards said.

Gordon smiled chuffedly at Edwards.

"We caught a break, son."

"Sir?" He said again.

"We found footprints in the sewers with DNA. It's being taken down to forensics as we speak."

"That's excellent, Commissioner." I said.

Gordon looked at me in the rear view mirror.

"It is, isn't it?" I smiled softly. I liked the Commissioner. It was a shame I'd targeted him. He focused on the road then shrugged his shoulders. "Don't know if it'll lead to anything, but if the footprints link where the person's been to the Davis house, that could be something."

"Do we have officers tracking the footprints?"

The car took a left turn on the street. "No leads. It disappears."

* * *

"If it disappears, then why are we here, sir?" I said. We'd climbed the manhole ladder and were now walking down the sewers with our flashlights out.

Gordon was pensive, looking at the spots where his flashlight went.

"Just looking again. You never know when you miss something."

* * *

"Nothing."

The three of us looked around. We decided to split up. We went down three separate sewers, which were large overhead. I looked far ahead with my flashlights, then where my feet where, looking for anything strange. My boots made soft sounds on the ground. There was a metal grate gate sticking out of the channel of the sewer and over on both parallel pathways on either side of the sewage. My boot made a swishing sound against the ground as I twisted to lift my leg over the grate and going onto the slightly higher platform. It reeked, so I couldn't place any out of place smells such as a dead body. I wondered if Gordon had people scouring the bottom of the river already. He probably had, but there was no way he'd tell the press that tomorrow.


	6. Chapter 6

How did someone 'find' footprints down here? It was not easy. Cops couldn't have done it. I had a theory - Batman. Batman would have been able to do it. Have you seen the high tech gadgets he has? He could have something that scanned the sewer tunnels, maybe, and found the footprint. I can't find my own footprints unless I look carefully. I'm marking the walls with a chocolate bar that's been heating up in my pocket from my body heat and I forgot was there. I'm smearing the chocolate on the walls so I can find my way back. It's not like I had chalk or a pen in my pocket.

In the end, there's nothing out of place. I don't really know what a sewer was supposed to look like, so I wasn't much help on judging if anything was out of place. But the bottom line was, I didn't find any secret doors or dead bodies - Sherry Davis. I backtracked based on the chocolate on the walls, feeling anxiety because of the dark and a little fear that I wouldn't be able to get back - it all looked so different when you were walking back, and you doubted your own markings. I kept with it and eventually found the ladder where this whole thing began. The manhole was uncovered and like a spotlight from heaven the light of day shone into the sewer tunnels. Gordon was standing under it and I heard footsteps to my left. I spooked and put my flashlight up. I saw Edwards, and had to close my eyes because his flashlight was in my eyes. We both relaxed.

"Found nothing." I told them both when all three of us stood underneath the light.

Gordon nodded.

"Nothing." chorused Edwards. Gordon shook his head, shoulders raising, hands in his coat pockets.

"Nothing." He concluded. He seemed to be thinking.

"Sir, I would advise you put the Batman down here instead of taking us down." Gordon looked at me.

Edwards scoffed.

"The Batman? The Batman's wanted from the police - we do not work with him."

I looked at Edwards.

"I suppose not. I apologize, Commissioner, for assuming so."

Gordon nodded graciously.

"Call me Gordon, or Jim. Jim's fine."

I smiled quickly.

"Thanks."

Once we got to the surface I got in the car, Edwards and Gordon just a few seconds after me. I didn't want to be down there anymore. We drove back to the police station.

"If you don't mind me asking, Gordon, are there officers looking at the bottom of the lake for Sherry Davis' body?"

Gordon looked at me in the rear view mirror.

"Yes." He said. "It was the first thing we did. Couldn't be sure she'd still be alive. Since we haven't found her, we have to assume so."

"I hope so, sir." Edwards said.

I didn't have personal feelings on the matter, so I didn't say anything. It sounded bad, but it was either one way or the other. Why would my personal feelings be included? I would work to do my best, but my personal feelings weren't involved. Whenever I managed to save victims or be on cases with other officers (before I was allowed to work my own cases), I felt pleasure at doing my job, having success. When the missing person did indeed stay missing or turned up dead and I still figured it out, completed the case I felt a rush of success at doing my job right. Even then, sometimes I didn't. It was just my job, and I was doing it right as I was meant to. But sometimes, I did my job right, chased all the leads, questioned all the suspects, and somebody was just never found or the abductors and in some cases, killer, was never caught. Those cases kept me up nights.

Why would my personal feelings be involved on the job? Why would I "hope" she's alive? She was either alive or dead and I can't stop it or change it any which way I try. I hated telling untruths, so I didn't say anything the entire car ride back to the station. Emotions were an uncomfortable thing for me, even so talking about them was worse, so I sat in the back panicking in silence, hoping neither of them would ask what I was feeling. Then either, I'd have to avoid the conversation, or else be compelled to answer honestly and have them treat me differently than they were now, because their personal opinion of me changed and they thought me weird. I obsessed over this and resisting it in my head all the way to the police station. Then as I went home for the night I planned and devised ways to ever avoid conversations like that with them in the future.

It took up my whole night. It was on my mind while I ate takeout, it was on my mind as I finished some reports on my laptop. I was in full panic and fear by the time I got round to brushing my teeth before bed. Then I spent three hours trying to get to sleep. I criticized myself - I knew what I did, I knew my own patterns yet I still did this, gave in to this fear and paranoia. The fear I hated. The fear meant I was weak. Weakness meant... I was not perfect. I kept beating myself up about this for those hours I lay in bed awake. I could picture what it would be like in the morning, going to work feeling completely tired. I didn't drink caffeine, so, sitting at my desk for the first few hours until 10 am would be the worst part of the day. After that, I'll wake up. Then I'll rush to get started on the workload that I was too foggy brained to do before 10am, which is three hours of no productivity. I would never catch up on the workload. I don't know how everyone else is not as stressed as me, rushing to get the paperwork done. Did they hire other people to do it? I was completely bemused over the subject.

But that wasn't what I would be doing anymore, would it? Not since I'd been put on the Davis case. Now there's less paperwork for me. I see Donovan doing it all. I feel no pity, just in case someone wonders. The only reason I cared to mention that is because I see other people mentioning a subject, and then immediately afterwards saying their feelings on it. It's just the status quo, I guess. I'd like to be ordinary one day. To be able to understand the shit and nonsense everyone else seems to get. Oh well.

Now my day was more field work than desk work, to which my colleagues despise. Although I generally have a bad taste in my mouth if they ever consider me worthy enough to start a chat with me and give me their opinions on topics, I always hate to hear them. Still, I dislike not having their approval. It makes being in the office a pain. I want a harmonious work environment. I don't tell these hopes to people, because then they scoff (so predictable) and say, 'in this city?', also, predictable, and then that reminds me of my oddness - how I don't give up. Then I realize it's considered a glaring flaw to some people - very annoying - and I try to remember to hide it. I dislike talking to people in general. Before I moved to Gotham from a small town, it was the same, only everyone knew me. People are boring and predictable. I have a conversation with someone, walk down the road and have the exact conversation with someone else. It's so predictable.


	7. Chapter 7

Once I heard a story from around the police station that a man went missing in the narrows and then he was dead for a whole month in his apartment and no one knew until the landlady discovered him when she wanted the rent. I don't find this surprising, given the state of the narrows, but what I do find surprising is how it made a story at all. This was hardly a one time incident, most likely had happened before. Most people did not like to speak about the Narrows, since it was considered the lower part of town and no doubt only slightly more dangerous being in than the city itself, even in broad daylight. The Narrows was a small island off the main city. One could travel there by ferry or a small bridge. Disappearances happen all the time but only some are reported - since it's usually the main police division that discovers the bodies who were hit by loan sharks or got on the wrong list of the mob in dumpsters or in the gutters. A lot of people have a perception of the rich to be high up in decadent nests. If this is so, because I like ideas and my mind clings onto them like hooks into a catch, I wonder frequently whenever I think about this if they see the dead bodies too.

People talk about the rich, or think about the rich, like they have some grudge against them. Like the rich took something away from them in being rich. But this is not the case. There are plenty of opportunities for advancement. Ramirez, whose mother is in the hospital, struggles with the bills, naturally, being on one wage and with how expensive hospital bills are. There are several documents she could file that could return some taxes, or catch her a break in the police department. I gently suggested this to her one day. I'm not sure if she believed me or not, or whether she followed through or not. But I know she made me coffee the next day and I threw it down the sink because I didn't drink coffee. I think she's been contacted by the mob. I hope she does the right thing.

"Sparrow," I heard my boss call, poking her head out from her office. I looked her way. "In my office, now," She sounded calm. I put down my pen and walked away from my desk to her office and shut the door behind me, standing politely in front of her desk. She didn't look happy to see me, but she never does, really. I don't particularly have an opinion on it.

My boss, Erin Gringol, sat down heavily in her worn, black leather chair and plopped her feet up on the desk. She wasn't wearing professional shoes, I noticed. It was a violation of the code. A safety measure and it was also part of the uniform. A uniform was their to unite us psychologically. I can't imagine anyone would follow that example with a boss like mine.

"To be honest, Sparrow, before this whole publicized case - the Davis case? - I was going to promote you just so you could get the hell out of my office and transfer to work under somebody who cares."

Well.

She gave me eye contact, her tea green eyes apathetic.

"You know, you walk around here, making us all look bad. Making _me _look bad."

"With all due respect," I began, but then I realized what I was going to say was incorrect so I stopped.

She took her feet off the desk and leaned forward, a hand out in the air. "No, you listen," Then she gave me a small speech about how she's my boss. "And when you out-do your own superior, you make the whole division look bad. The police look bad."

I had a thousand, a million things to say, but they were all abstract right now and wouldn't really make sense, plus they would all just jumble into a ball like a large ball of twine and I wouldn't really make any solid points. So I just stayed quiet, my brain frazzled with trying to come up with something to say.

"I was going to transfer you somewhere else," She leaned back, slowly putting her feet back on the table. Her suit was professional except for her tennis shoes, as I noticed again when they were put back on the table. "The country maybe, who cares?" She chuckled mirthlessly, pinching the bridge of her nose. "What I'm saying is, because Jim Gordon has put you on the Davis case," She paused, giving me long eye contact. "That is the only reason you're still in Gotham's police force and not out in some small backwash town somewhere." She waved her hand uncaringly.

"I see."

"Do we understand each other?"

"Perfectly."

"'kay. Now get the hell outta my office." She smacked a manilla file on her desk, clearly dismissing me.


	8. Chapter 8

Dr. Crane walked along the hallways of Arkham Asylum, his briefcase in hand. He came to a white security door and used the badge pinned to the lapel of his brown blazer to clear him through. The buzzer sounded and he walked through. They would have security guards, but Arkham was not funded well and the security guards were limited to the way in, the way out, and the maximum security wing. Everyone else who worked there, nurses, administration, had to know their own security tips. In the end, it was their own actions that guaranteed their safety. He saw a nurse coming his way to the door and he held it open for her and the white cart she pushed. She smiled thankfully at him and pushed her way in.

"Thank you, Dr. Crane," She gushed as she passed him. He nodded rushedly, just wanting her to get out the way already then he could shut the door and get to his work. He smiled quickly at her and she gave him a big grin back, eyes only on him and not on the cart full of the patient's medication. He cleared his throat, let the door click closed on the lock, then walked with long strides around her and away from her to his office down the hall, ignoring her lingering glance and how she tried to call for him. All the nurses had a thing for him. He was young, and probably the first Head of Arkham some of the nurses who had been here long enough to go through a few had seen that was remotely attractive or young. He was younger than some of them. Not by much, however, and that eased his mind. It shouldn't weigh on his mind, but it did, because he was often marvelled at or treated worse because he was the boss that was younger than his employees.

When he entered his office all those thoughts flew out the window. He checked his tie as he came to his desk and set his briefcase down. He had two moments to himself before he heard a knock on his door. He lowered his hands from his temples impatiently and called quietly,

"Yes?"

The door opened and his secretary's head popped in.

"Dr. Crane, the two cops are here to see you."

He waited until his secretary closed his door before lowering his head and sighing. He forgot they were coming today. He pursued his lips in displeasure - he had so much work to do. He couldn't be escorting two new cops around his asylum who couldn't even comprehend the work he did or the lengths he went through to do it.

The dusty clock on his wall - it was there when he started the job - showed it was early in the morning. Hopefully he'd get to his work before 10. Maybe 9, but he was being very hopeful.


	9. Chapter 9

I arrived at the front desk with a new recruit. I called him Skippy in my head, because that's what he reminded me of. He was like every other young cop - most of them anyway - which is why Gordon wanted me to break him in.

_He leaned in to whisper to me._

_"He's a new guy, just transferred to my division. I have to work on this case, don't have time to break him in. Everyone's on the Joker case - wouldn't trust Edwards with this. Can I trust you with this?"  
_

_"Yes, sir." I nodded solemnly._

Gordon took Edwards out in his police car. Edwards gave me a slow smirk from the passenger window as I stood outside the police station with Mark, the new guy, who was looking around with his hands on his belt. I didn't feel anything - he clearly didn't know that Gordon gave me this task because he knew he could trust me with it, and not Edwards. I needed to break Mark in. He would have entrusted one of his recruiting guys to do it but everyone was focused on the Joker, and with all the tension, catching Batman. I knew Gordon was secretly working with Batman on the Davis case, but I didn't say anything.

Breaking in a new cop typically means a ride along, staging something where the new cops have to see danger and then they lose their cockiness and realize how serious of a job we have. I decided to do something else to break him in. I called it 'a field trip' when I told him. Mark looked at me worriedly when we crossed the bridge to the Narrows, but I only watched the road. When we turned in to Arkham Aslyum's black iron gates, he 'woah'ed into a closed fist.

"This is sick!"

* * *

I stood at the reception with Skippy. I mean, Mark. The lady looked up at us with a weird look but when I explained the reason for my visit, and my call ahead, she 'aahed' with a fake smile and gave us both visitor badges. I took mine and clipped it on, the new recruit took his and clipped it on, more worried about his appearance than I was, smoothing down the lapels of his new uniform jacket. It'd get dirty quickly once he was out in the field. If he did his job correctly, anyway.

"How unusual." The receptionist said, regarding the reason to my visit. After she handed us our badges, she smiled fakely with brown lipsticked lips and a nod.

"Dr. Crane will be with you shortly."

"Thank you." I said.

* * *

Dr. Crane walked down the hall quickly, smoothing his hair to check if it was tousled before meeting the cops. He came to a stop in front of the two of them and smiled.

"This way."

* * *

Skippy was loving it. He looked in on the patient's cells, joked about how they got in there by their looks. It was very inane - each time we came upon a patient he asked me with a whisper, underscoring Dr. Crane's continuous informative words, how I thought each one got there. I didn't answer him, keeping my authoratative silence, and to him it was like water off a duck's back. If he kept doing it, however, I'd have to tell him to shut up.

I didn't anticipate him finding it so cool. I considered for a moment if I was shit at this - breaking in a new cop. But, I remembered about the basement, and thought that we'd have to see if I got results or not first before coming to those kind of conclusions. I didn't want to believe anything without having evidence first.

I'd been listening to everything Dr. Crane had said and when there was a pause, I asked a question of mine that occurred to me when listening to when he explained how Arkham worked, which took most of level 1 and 2.

"Arkham only refers adult patients, is that right?" I asked as we entered a doorway.

Dr. Crane looked at me for a few seconds.

"Arkham Asylum does not have a pediatric wing." He said eventually as we stood for the elevator. I wondered why I couldn't have decent conversations with anyone without them staring at me for 10 minutes.

* * *

He expected the new recruits to be dull and uncomprehending of anything he'd tell them upon the visit, but apparently one of them was sharp. She didn't gawk at the patients like the other one did, and she listened to what he said, even asking a thoughtful question of her own. He quickly deduced earlier on before she amazed him with her question that she was obviously an experienced cop and the boy was new. Perhaps trying to break him in. Well, they were at the elevator now, about to go to the basement. Where the maximum security patients were.

* * *

When we got down to the basement, I got my desired results. Skippy wasn't enjoying it so much anymore. Here the patients rambled to an empty room, they were in straight jackets, strapped down to chairs, or just screaming. Skippy looked nervous. I chuckled in delight when a patient, through a clear glass window, caught Skippy staring and roared like an animal, throwing himself at the glass wall. Skippy whimpered quietly in fright and quickly caught up to me, walking close.

"This is where they put the cops who go crazy." I said. He looked at me with horror. Of course, it wasn't true. But it could be, if you went insane. "Also, the ones who take bribes." I pretended to elaborate for him. "Dirty cops."

The man was pasty white. I chuckled. This was the whole reason for my visit.

The tour around the basement was quick - strangers excite them, Dr. Crane had said - and we waited for the elevator again, the three of us standing in a line. Skippy was sweating a little at the temples, breathing quickly while I ignored him. Dr. Crane stood on my right.

"So, you are a cop?" He said. I looked at him.

"Yes."

"What I mean is," He explained in his quiet voice. He looked at Skippy. I mean, Mark. He leaned in to whisper, "breaking him in?"

I whispered back with a straight face, not looking at him but my face turned towards him a little,

"Yes."

He stood up straight and a few seconds later, the elevator opened.

We stood in the elevator, going up. The three of us. Mark was still breathing raggedly. So much so that Dr. Crane leaned over.

"Are you alright?"

"Yes, sir," He nodded quickly, hands on his hips, lips lined together, tipping his police cap down a tad nervously. Pale, sweating. Dr. Crane leaned away.

I didn't have a cap with me today. I was given one with my uniform, but I wasn't required to wear it in my division. Nobody in my division wore it anyway. People didn't even wear their uniform properly in my division.

* * *

Dr. Crane looked at the female cop again. She had sandy brown hair pulled into a simple ponytail, and dark eyes looking ahead. She thanked him for his time and he gave a gracious nod.

"Uh, miss," He asked politely. She stopped and turned to him, her face as serious as it had been the entire time she'd been there. "May I ask your name?"

"I'm Detective Sparrow." She nodded, and turned away to go to the front desk. That hadn't been what he meant, but okay.

He lingered longer than he should have, able to see the two cops return their badges to the front desk and the female cop escort the sweating cop out the front door. He turned away when the receptionist turned her head to look at him and rubbed his eye from under his glasses, going to his


	10. Chapter 10

I have a very predatory nature. My mind, my psyche, my whatever, needs things to hunt. I need challenges, things that can completely and utterly occupy my focus. Things that are complicated, long-term, and what I can complete through my own efforts. That is why being a police officer is so good for me. Being in the missing person's division - a division that is one of the most traumatizing, one you don't end up in by accident, and one that not many aspired to work in, gave me sufficient challenges that just satisfied me, while for others they were too much to deal with. I funneled all of my focus and this nature of mine into my work, so that I could satisfy it. It made me do my job exceptionally well.

It's happened a few times where I've found something - a person, although to me they are objects - I liked, and it's like the whole world spins on its axis but it's just me and that person, and I know I'm going to hunt them. It happened in high school, once, it happened several times when I was a child, and it's happened several times since I've become an adult. It just happens. I don't follow through with it, however. I know I'm not meant to. I never plan to kill them. It's always different, whatever I find myself intending to do, but it's never killing. I usually find myself trying to find ways to sabotage or ruin them. In my head, I'm 'slaying' them this way. As I said, I never kill. I've never ruined anyone either. I always divert my attention. The missing person's cases, I may never have personal stake in it like the things (people) I sometimes pick, but it lets this drive in me out constructively for the greater good. I have the best record in my division, to the ire of everyone else, not that I care. It's just a detail. I let my brain, my self, run this course when I let it out in my work, because it's useless resisting who I am. Doesn't mean I tell anyone, however.

I knew that I could turn astray from the path of good. In any frustration I feel, my personality could bubble and I could deviate. I knew that. The urge has happened several times, to satisfy urges I don't really know how to name, when I've found something I liked, or didn't like, just wanted to play with, sometimes. But each time that's happened, I've been wearing my uniform. And when I remember I'm wearing I'm uniform, feel the weight of it on my body like for the first time, it's both an anchor and a support to me, lifting me up and reminding me I'm a force of good, a stable influence upon the world, and that I lead by example. If I don't do what's right, how could I expect the people who look to me for protection, no matter how disillusioned they are by the dodgy police force, to do the same? How could they be inspired by an example who doesn't exist? Or a false idol? If I did not uphold values and did the right thing, then how could I possibly expect same from anybody else? It always made my job easier when they did that.

My latest choice was Commissioner Gordon. I never know why I pick people - there's an abstract something that I like about them. Nobody ever attracts my attention or gains my eye, unless it's caught my hunting instinct. It's quite literally, a hunting instinct. That is why I don't like very many people. I never liked my boyfriends. But I'll tell you the truth, I only went out with them to gain something. People are offended when they see I don't like them, but really, they're lucky if I don't. They don't understand why, and I'll never tell them. I'll just let them believe whatever they want - I'm hung up on an old affair, traumatized childhood, whatever it has to be. I don't care what it is. I'd rather they believe that than know the real reason.

My uniform is enough for me to remember what I stand for. But I'm still plotting ways to sabotage Gordon. I don't care that he has a family. I never intend to go through with it, however. It satisfies something in me just to think about it.

* * *

Once, I gave up. I didn't care anymore. It was right after I could work on my own cases. But it wasn't enough. I wasn't doing enough. I had a shitty workplace, a shitty boss, I worked with people who didn't care about the things they stood for. We were an inefficient unit - that's what got my cake. I worked in a city where no one cared - that we were an inefficient unit. I couldn't do anything about it, and the work I did was not recognized or appreciated. I don't give up on my cases, ever, but there was one time when I gave up on my job.

When things are not satisfying, rewarding, or challenging, I stop caring about it. It's always been that way. I never cared about my grades, because to me, we learned something, the teachers impersonally gave us a test, we gave the test back, then they gave us a letter on a piece of paper. What the fuck is a letter on a piece of paper supposed to do for me? Why should I care about a letter on a piece of paper? It was stupid, that's what it was. But when we got rewards for doing well in our studies - getting advanced placements, certificates, recognition, I focused on my work, and they moved me out of the average classes into the advanced ones. I remember them telling me,

"I don't know how you got into those classes.", regarding the classes where the pace was average. I worked until I got to the top of my classes, which wasn't hard, I just had to get into the groove of things considering I hadn't been paying attention before, it was literally copy what the example gave you and remember it, apply it wherever the question asks. It was really easy and simple. I don't know why people struggled with simple instruction. Complex ideas, I can see why people may not understand. But simple instruction was another thing entirely - you just had to listen. It was often simple, but people made it complicated. Weirdos.

I tried to be sloppy in my detective work, because I didn't care anymore, but being sloppy in my own work bothered me. I couldn't do it for long. I started caring again and just did my own job - it was my responsibility after all, and if I didn't do it no one else would.

* * *

I tugged my jacket onto my shoulders to face the cold in Gotham's night. I turned off the lights of the empty locker room, save for myself, and left. I would do the night shift, but my job required I be there during the day since I'm on the Davis case, to work with Gordon. I jogged down the police station's steps to the sidewalk, putting my hands in my pockets and taking a right to get to the train station. I had a car, but a few times a week I gave it a rest because it was old, and I liked it that way. I didn't want a new car, because if it was new or expensive it'd be stolen much faster here in Gotham. I liked it old because no one would steal it. And I just liked old stuff. Furthermore, I saved spending money on gas when I didn't use it everyday. If I cut it down just a few days every month it saved me a lot to take the train instead.

The train didn't have very many passengers on it, considering it was 9pm. The windows and seats had vandalism on them and a few people had hoods on. I made sure to pull the hoodie of my jacket up. When I left the police station on nights when I took the train, I made sure to dress like a scruff. I wore my old jeans, a shirt I didn't care about and a hoodie to hide my face and my gender. I left my ponytail inside the hoodie. If I looked like I didn't own anything, I wouldn't be a target for mugging. It could still happen though, it was Gotham. What I'm saying is, I wouldn't deliberately attract attention. With my accolades and bonuses from completing cases on top of my salary got me a good amount of money, I certainly didn't want to dress that way in Gotham, as a woman, on foot, at night.


	11. Chapter 11

I saw a woman on the train.

She was across the train diagonally from me and down a bit. The person sitting closest to her was a man a few seats my way, who I could see as I was looking at her. Everyone sat far away from each other on the train. He was far away enough to be deemed a stranger, but close enough that he was in my focus of vision when I looked at her. She was huddled in a black coat, in her thirties, had dyed blonde hair with dark roots. She had her eyes lowered to the dirty train floor, her arms folded in front of her, and on her feet were the kind of black shoes old women wore. She lifted her face to look out the window and the lipstick she wore was red. I knew she was going to get off the train soon.

I felt a longing pull towards her.

This was Gotham, at night. No one would know. No one would find her, except her body lying somewhere. She couldn't be the relations of anyone important or high up. Her lipstick was cheap and so were her earrings. It would be easy to just follow her...

I tore my head away and the train came to a stop. I wasn't wearing my uniform, so it had been easier to go further down the trail of thought, the rabbit hole, than I usually did. I started smiling at myself and chuckling to myself, trying to keep it quiet to not attract attention. My teeth were straight and would attract people's attention. But I was chuckling quietly to myself. Look at me. This was so funny.

I stared hard, forward, when the train came to a stop at the next station after the last one we stopped at and the woman got off, holding her large square shoulder bag to her side tightly and her chin high. Oooh, a confident one? A challenge?

I snapped my eyes back forward. No.

I could see in my periphery that she went to the station's stairs and ascended them to the station above. It was so hard to keep myself rooted to that chair. I poured all of my effort into keeping my focus on that one speck on the car wall opposite me. The dot had no specific significance, other than focusing on it with all my might kept me in the chair, not running out of the car's closing doors and running up the stairs after the woman. I would be good at it. I could do it.

But I couldn't. I couldn't serve Gotham with a record.

The train's doors closed with a ding overhead and we smoothed into transit. I was about to sit back in my chair and put my arm over the back of the chair, but I stayed huddled to stop from attracting attention to myself. I resisted the urge to smirk. My eyes stayed on the train station in the corner of my eye until I couldn't see it anymore.

* * *

I entered my apartment with a breathful smile, letting my coat drop to the floor after I shut my door behind me. I sighed happily, and walked on air to my kitchen, turning on the light to fill the room with a bright heavenly glow. My life was only full and complete when I had targets. Targets I picked personally, not the ones I was given in my work. I felt satisfied in my gut and I felt content - life had a purpose now. Even if I couldn't hunt her down, for a few short moments I had everything I needed in life. I had a purpose, I had a reason to live, and I had pleasure while doing it.

As I got to my fridge, I completely forgot about the entire incident. I pulled out some leftovers and ate in front of my television, which was off. I never watched it. It never had anything interesting or entertaining on. That was the purpose of television, wasn't it? To entertain. I couldn't imagine becoming one of those people who stared mindlessly at the box all evening.

* * *

Staying home at night in my apartment _again _wasn't enough for me. Not tonight. I spent every night in my apartment, not going out, not doing anything. I've been given an electric shock of life, I needed to go out and do something.

I got dressed in my good clothes - a dress, for tonight, I think -, put on some lipstick and some mascara. I put on some high heels and my nice coat. My hair was always kept in a ponytail, but I let it out for tonight. I knew how to transform myself. I looked completely different.

I walked out my apartment and as I approached my car I remembered it was old, not a fancy, new, expensive car I had in my mind. Oh dear. I wouldn't make a good impression in that, if I arrived _anywhere._

It was in the same spot I left it, which was a blessing in Gotham. I smiled at it, letting my fingers trail the hood as I slowly approached the driver's seat. I unlocked the car and slid into the driver's seat, testing the pedals now that I had a different kind of shoe on. I recklessly drove out into the road, laughing to myself in the quiet car as I did so.

* * *

I leaned forward near the steering wheel as I drove, looking out. I had to choose where I was going carefully. I drove through downtown, looking along what was called 'the strip' because of the businesses all next to one another - bars, clubs, restaurants. The night life. I only knew this because I heard about it at the police station. No. Too shallow, and boring. The people there would be a waste of my brain cells. I sat back in my car seat and sped up a little where I had been lagging a little in my looking around.

* * *

When Sparrow was in the train, and I said car, the individual compartments are called cars, not carriages or train compartments. For those who were confused.


	12. Chapter 12

In the end, I sneered and drove past the strip altogether. Nothing interesting there.

In the end, I did nothing spectacular. The whole night, which was only really an hour, didn't accomplish any of my fantasies. So I went home. It was boring there.

* * *

Jim found me where I was waiting for him outside the police station, with Mark at my side, when we returned from Arkham Asylum. I remember he looked over the new guy and said,

"Well you didn't have to scare him half to death! Did'ja take him on a car chase with the Joker?"

I chuckled, finding it honestly amusing. How improbable a scenario. The mental image was funny.

"No, Commissioner. I mean, Jim. Nothing like that."

Today when I found Jim again he came up to me, his jacket behind his hands which were on his belt.

"The new guy?" He said casually. He looked over his shoulder with a smirk even though Mark wasn't there. "You scared him real good." He chuckled.

"Oh, good." I didn't care. He was supposed to be.

"A little too good." Gordon said with a smile. I had no flipping idea if that was good or bad. It could be either. I had honestly no idea.

"In a good way or a bad way?" I said after a few seconds.

"Oh, no, you did just fine." He patted my shoulder. He walked past me and I turned to follow him. "Think the kid's gonna be on the straight and narrow. You never know," His voice got soft as he took in who was on top of the steps to the police station, then he resumed walking and regained his voice, "but one can hope."

"Commissioner Gordon," The Mayor of Gotham smiled glibly at him, turning from a judge and a Chief of Police, ready to give Gordon a handshake as Gordon reached the top steps. Gordon took it hesitantly, no doubt taken off guard that they were there.

The Mayor smiled winningly, like in his campaign posters.

"I just came to congratulate you on your progress so far on this case. The Davis case."

"I... see," Gordon said, reaching up to wipe next to his nose twice where his glasses rested on an itch. "well, thank you for your time."

The Mayor said a little more seriously, seeing that Gordon wished to leave.

"I just wanted to make sure this case had your full attention. We can't have Gotham's police force losing such an important little girl, now can we?"

"You mean you can't afford that on your reputation?"

Oh, my, god! _No _way! I just said that out loud.

Oh, my, god.

Oh, my, god. To the Mayor of Gotham.

Oh, my, god.

I had only meant it as an accurate deduction - I'd completely forgotten the social ramifications of saying those things out loud. Man - I _always _forgot! People are so petty and easily offended by the truth. I forgot they have some sort of strange attachment to their fabrications, and there's a complicated social unconscious understanding of everyone's fabrications. It's beyond me. One thing I don't understand, but I'm not giving up. I don't give up, remember? It isn't a philosophy or outlook on life, it's simply my persistent pattern of behavior that even though I've tried to alter - to save myself stress and frustration - I can't. It doesn't work. No distractions help, no techniques. Nothing.

The Mayor looked like he just noticed me, and accepted my accidental challenge. He side stepped around Gordon, ignoring Gordon's open mouth trying to say words, and came to stand in front of me uncomfortably close, pushing back his navy windbreaker with his hands when they raised to his belt.

"And who are you?"

"Detective Sparrow, sir." I answered, staring straight ahead, not looking at him in the eye.

To be honest this was very uncomfortable. The whole situation.

"What division are you in?" He raised his chin up in a micro second lasting jut.

"Uh, sir," Gordon gently stepped in. "That won't be necessary. Detective Sparrow is invaluable to the Davis case, she's put in valuable input that has gotten us this far. She's got the best record in the department - I can't solve this case without her."

The Mayor looked between Gordon, then me, behind him undecidedly. He was angry.

He leveled his stare on Gordon.

"Fine." He said, and pointed a finger in Gordon's little face. "It's an election year this year, Gordon. I need this. Keep her mouth away from the paparazzi. Don't want her spreading anymore lies. Or it's your job on the line too."

"I understand, sir." Gordon said even though the Mayor wasn't listening. He turned and stormed off down the police steps to where a limo was waiting for him. With a sour look our way, even though I was only looking at Gordon, he got in and it drove away.

But Gordon looked at me with good humor.

"Got to be careful with these politicians, Sparrow, they don't like nobody finger pointin'."

I blinked, trying to understand this and looked down, my hands, as always, behind my back.

Gordon chuckled and slapped his hand on my shoulder, turning to walk next to me and leading me with his hand to walk next to him as we went into the station.

"Alright." Gordon said as he got Edwards and I into a room by ourselves. Which, oddly enough, was an abandoned office. "It's been three days. Heads together, people. No ransom, no body. We have to assume he's alive."

Edwards began suggesting something ludicrous, but I knew dispassionately that we all needed something beyond the police to help us, and I knew Gordon was already warmed up to the idea.

"Gordon, we need Batman." I said calmly.

"What? No! You know the police are after him. If we're seen consorting with him then it's our necks too." said Edwards intensely in my directions. Gosh, he was so by the book. Sometimes, rules had to be broken so the greater good could happen.

"This girl will not be found by our methods and techniques, and equipment. We need somebody on a whole 'nother level." I said calmly in his direction.

Edwards looked at Gordon with wide eyes. But then he seemed to think about it and made resolve.

"Alright. If it finds her."

Gordon looked between us with a mischievous smile, which I got irritated at because this was a girl's life at stake here and he was rather smiling than telling us how to find Batman.

"Let me show you something."

* * *

The batman signal, I never knew existed before tonight. It was on the very top of the roof. We'd been waiting an hour, I think, and no show.

Edwards was sitting on the roof with a soda and I was leaning against the part of the building where the door was to go back downstairs, Gordon standing by the Bat signal still.

Gordon sighed, putting his hands over his eyes behind his glasses.

"Looks like he isn't coming."

"Maybe it doesn't work in the day?" I said. For some reason they laughed. But I was being serious.

* * *

"Seriously, _nothing_?" I said. I liked to pretend I was frustrated around other people. It made them more animated around me. Inside, I already knew the answers to my questions. But there was no harm in having a little fun. "So someone kidnaps a young girl. Three days, she's not dead, and there's no ransom. _What _could possibly be going on here?"

Gordon sighed at me.

"I don't know."

"We got nothing," said Edwards.

"The three of us could come up with something," I said. We were about to leave the roof when we heard something behind us,

"I could be of some help." Like a girl I was, I played the role and 'aah'ed like I was startled. Gordon righted me by the elbow when I nearly 'fell'.

His voice was deep as he said, his eyes boring right into Gordon's.

"You called?"


	13. Chapter 13

Just-Me-and-My-Brain: Thank you.

* * *

Bruce Wayne sat at his computer in his bat cave, looking at his database. He thought he found something.

Sherry Davis was not the only missing girl her age for the same conditions of her situation to be met. How they went missing - no one knew - , the lack of witnesses, the lack of ransom indicating a kidnapped situation, and another thing - they were all never found, dead or alive. They all happened at the same time of year, the last three years running. It was a little vague, but there was a pattern.

It'd been two weeks since Sherry Davis had been kidnapped, he couldn't believe he didn't see this before. What with hunting down the Joker and dealing with the mob, the police, and leading two lives, it took its toll. But he had to get this to Gordon right away. Let him see this.

* * *

Gordon, Edwards, my boss, and myself crowded round the laptop with the flash drive only three of us knew Gordon got from Batman, looking at the files, blue light falling on our faces.

"Kelly, Wilkinson. Two kidnapped girls before - same age, same time of year, same M.O." said Gordon, who was sitting in the only chair in front of the laptop.

"Kelly, Wilkinson?" My boss repeated. She was leaning over with us but her arms folded.

"I remember them." I nodded blankly, staring at the screen. They were both on my wall and mental checklist of unsolved cases. I could call up their entire case before my eyes, and I was as I said, "But we thought Kelly washed up in the river."

Gordon shrugged.

"Turns out, not. Or at least, no one ever took DNA samples, tested it out." He moved the mouse and brought up pictures. Some of us recoiled. I didn't. The picture was already in my head, recalled. There was nothing gruesome about it, in my opinion.

"We can get that done right away," My boss said. I was surprised by her initiative and leadership. I was impressed. The theory was in my mind immediately, but I knew better this time not to say it out loud, not after the mayor. Still. I focused on what I wanted. We were getting somewhere. My boss's stupid attachment to how she looked to others would not endanger the operation, it was too small. The reason she was here was because she was the boss of the missing person's unit. She knew all the cases that were called in. My supervisor was supposed to be here but Gringol said he was on his way so we started without him.

* * *

The cameras flashed brightly in the large empty hall. Gordon, made to look smaller by the podium he stood behind covered in microphones, looked out. He looked smaller up there, a sweet man, fumbling with his glasses before he began his speech, his blue eyes looking out into the pristine room filled with rows of the press.

"...We are doing everything we can to find Ms. Davis. Thank you," He ended his speech off abruptly then left the blue carpeted stage, walked down two steps then joined me on the way out while the press shouted questions behind him while scribbling on their notepads.

* * *

I got in my car, closing the door. I sat in the seat for a few moments. I went to turn on the car, but I stopped. I got out and closed my car while locking it, walking back to the police station, taking the stairs two at a time. As I entered the front, where the general populace could go to file complaints, report crimes, etc, everything was usual. Without breaking stride I walked towards the elevator, but on my way there I saw a disheveled looking Dr. Crane. At first I wasn't sure I'd see someone as composed as him down here, but there he was. He was arguing with a police officer behind some glass, who was looking unhelpful and didn't care about it. Unbidden, Dr. Crane turned around he saw me. For some reason it was like the floodlights turned on with how his face lit up and he walked over to me quickly.

"Ms - Detective Sparrow," He said, staring at my face. I didn't move from where I was standing at the elevator, waiting for it, but I was looking at him. "I know you would be helpful. I'm trying to file a complaint, about some burglar's around my home, and," He looked behind them then scoffed to me, "and the people here are really unsympathetic."

"You're not a victim." I stated. "You play the part really well, but you're too composed and narcissistic to be doing this." I said. "It's really strange you'd go this far to meet me. I'd have pegged you for bringing me to your own turf." I turned and pressed the button again for the elevator, facing it. I started thinking about the walls and for the hundredth time whenever I waited for the elevator, how much paint it needed. I didn't even notice that I'd done something wrong with Dr. Crane.

Dr. Crane pulled himself up and then sighed through his nose, his hands together in front of him. He looked at me. I wasn't interested in what he was doing, but it was because I was always so fully alert that I couldn't shut off I noticed it. Perfectionist, remember? I also suspected I had anxiety issues. Or over-stimulation to my environment.

"Now, Detective Sparrow, whose the narcissistic one to be believing that I came all the way to the police station just to see you?"

I didn't answer him, just staring right into my elevator. It wasn't opening yet. I still waited, though. I didn't think of any alternative, like the stairs, to reach my destination because of how focused I was for the elevator to open.

It finally opened and I stepped inside, pressing a button. To my surprise Dr. Crane followed me and he looked over the labelled buttons while the door was still open and pressed the one for

"Gordon," He said, pressing the Major Crimes unit button. We ascended in the elevator, alone together.

"Narcissistic means a grandiose sense of self worth, accompanied with many other contradicting and ailing traits." I said. "I don't have any of those." I wasn't defending myself, I was just pointing out that he was wrong. So he wouldn't believe the wrong thing. I didn't want him to believe anything false. Because believing anything false was just horrible, especially when it was preventable.

He turned his face to look at me fully.

"Startling, Detective." I let my eyes run over the walls. "I didn't think you knew anything about psychology."

I only knew that because it was an interest of mine - while I was eternally trying to figure myself out and whatever it was I had.

I turned my head to Dr. Crane. He was still looking at me, so, we were looking at each other.

"I wonder how the Head of Arkham, with such a poorly funded asylum and everything, has time to personally come down and file a complaint about burglar's. No offense, but that's a minor crime in Gotham. Furthermore, you could have just called it in." I said calmly.

I looked ahead.


	14. Chapter 14

The warning is on my profile, but this OC does cuss a little. Just a tiny bit. One or two words.

* * *

There were so many things wrong with what he said. He had an expensive, dry cleaned suit (no pets, because no hair), when his asylum was very poorly funded. If he had money, why would he live in an area where there would be burglar's? He would surely live uptown. What a dickhead. If you're going to lie, at least do it right. I hate it when people are see-through. Which is practically everyone. It's so annoying, because, they think they're complicated, but really, it's just transparent.

Also, I was annoyed at myself. I called him narcissistic, when that was not the correct word. He was not narcissistic. He's just intelligent and finds people annoying because of their ignorance - he finds it exhausting, so he's taken upon the attitude over the years to sneer at people and make them feel stupid. The thing is, that tactic would probably work on him. If he feels stupid, that's the motivation to learn things, become smarter. It takes one to know one. He's not narcissistic, he's tired of people of lesser intelligence than him. That was not the way I saw it, but I did once. I knew where he was coming from. Gosh, I was so annoyed at myself for using the wrong term. Words are my law - each word has an individual meaning, all different from others where other people were just like 'they mean the same thing'. They don't. Using one word from another, when they're supposedly similar, can change the entire tone of whatever you're trying to say. I know, because I get it wrong all the time. I'm trying to say my point, but it comes out all abstract, and unformed, then I try to organize my thoughts, then I give the wrong information to persuade someone, then they have the different kind of thoughts than the ones I wanted to convince them of. Sigh.

* * *

I wasn't a fully fledged Detective before the Davis case, I was in between. I told people to call me by that because it was easier. Because I was good, I was allowed to work on my own cases without Donovan. But because my boss didn't like me, I had the feeling that was the reason anyway, that was why I wasn't promoted. You have to be in the field for a minimum of six months on your own. It's been eight months. I couldn't believe it however, when Gordon's brows shot up to his hairline when he heard this news.

"Don't you worry, Sparrow." He said, hand on my shoulder. "I'll get that promotion for you. Hell," he said. "I'm the Commissioner, you're promoted. You're now Detective."

Yay.

* * *

As we stood in the elevator, was watching the numbers change on the levels, there was silence.

"Be that as it may, Detective," he began, but the elevator stopped and someone got in. He read a newspaper at the back of the elevator. There was silence. He got off at the next level.

When his level came up, he turned to me and bid me goodbye before he walked out. Creepy.

As he got out, I was struck with a thought that I owned three DVD's, and two of them were documentaries. One of them was a tutorial to a Korean steamer for steaming shirts

I got out at the missing person's division, got something then went back down to my car.

As I got in the elevator to go back down, I was struck with the thought of something I couldn't fix. Which _always _caused me problems, to think like that. I let out a groan of pure frustration, but I didn't put my back against the wall of the elevator with my hands over my face like they did in the movies. I _hated_ it when I couldn't solve my own problems. First, they were my problems to solve, I could do it alone. I had power solving a problem. But if I couldn't solve it, not only would I not be perfect, I would be at its mercy. I would be vulnerable to it, and at any moment it could jump out and get me when I least expect it. Like in Greek tragedies when the king's general and best friend turns out to have lead the rebellion against him and kills him himself because he trusted him. Don't think about this. Or you'll a panic attack. Doooooon't.

Man, I'm doing it.

I was breathing heavily by the time I got to the lobby. I was so busy thinking I didn't put on my jacket, which I hated because I always did that upstairs, _and_ anyone else wouldn't have forgotten to put on their jacket and they would have done it faster too - but I ignored my flaws and extreme frustration over that and, like a mess, tried to put my jacket on and walk fast, gaining looks as I crossed the entire lobby and made it out. Weirdos. They've never seen anyone put a jacket on before?

To which my answer was, of course, yes of course they have. You'd have to just come out of a jungle you'd been living in your whole life before seeing someone putting on a jacket.

I sighed when I got to my car and got in, feeling like a mess. I absolutely hated it when I had to be right all the time. I mean, when I had to be correct. I had to be _correct._


	15. Chapter 15

I got in the cop car with Mark, (the guy I'd just broken in), thoroughly annoyed. This was the second time I wasn't on the case because I had to do something with Skippy. Why was this guy so important I couldn't just work with Gordon and Edwards? Then I remember on his ramblings the last time we were in a car together while I drove,

"yeah, uh, my dad's a cop, he's friend's with the Mayor - "

I... see.

I lifted my chin and turned the steering wheel to back out in a curve into traffic. I set the car into drive and pushed the gas pedal. I really had the nerve to do things to the Mayor. My God.

I was supposed to take him back to Arkham Aslyum. Something as ridiculous, as ludicrous, as to actually physically go there and de-sensitize this poor boy from Arkham Asylum. Or risk my taking him down there - which I wasn't really supposed to go far enough to do - getting to his dad, getting to the mayor, then who knows what happens next. Something bad. And thankfully, preventable.

I would get to see Dr. Crane again. I had no opinion or emotions on Dr. Crane. As I've said before, people's fabrications are not only beyond me but I'm not attached to them like other people are. I could see that he was faking, but I don't care that he was. I don't, in any way, link myself to it. So I was blank minded concerning seeing Dr. Crane again. It also didn't enter my head that he may be offended by my pointing it out to him. Who would get offended by the truth? It was actually quite comical, for me, to see a guy I knew to be as perfectionistic and poised as I am to be running around, like an actor - like, well, myself, I just realized - posing as a man in distress. It was quite funny. I guess it takes one performer to know another. Or something. But he was all out ostentatious in his acting. Appalling. Did that actually fool people? I can tell fakers from the real thing, for one, because I fake everything. Everything that is not my work, or that looks like emotion or sentiment, is fake. I do it to fit in, so I can go through my day smoothly without interruption. I know what to say and how to say it, but sometimes I forget it. Then it leads to moments where people find out about me. Then I'm spotted. Then I'd have to kill you.

I'm a chameleon. I've mastered it, I'd say. I have the looks that when I put on a socialite, bubbly, even an air-headed persona, people buy it. But then, I'd still forget to use it. I'd forget sometimes it even existed, like it was wiped clean from my mind for a day. Then it would come back, and I'd be sighed exasperatedly at how I didn't get to manipulate someone today.

I went over the bridge to the Narrows a little faster than I should've, the speed bumps making us bump high in our seats abruptly, but I kept going, following the road.

"You're a risky driver, Detective," Mark chuckled nervously, a hand holding the brace above his window on his right.

I thought about what he meant.

"Hm. I suppose I can make my movements more smooth. It would save gas, and the breaks." I contemplated out loud.

Damnit, I didn't have time to be smooth! I had to get this stupid guy in there and get out. God he made me mad. I had a girl to save and here he was being scared of a few screaming people. We didn't know what that girl was experiencing.

"Oh - " I was about to swear, and I only swore when I was confused or just remembered something I found very important. It was the latter. But I caught myself from swearing because then it would unprofessional (I wasn't alone, and I was used to being so) and it would be a bad example for Skippy here. "man!" I said instead. "I forgot to call ahead," My voice was full of frustration and slight whining.

"Oh that's okay," Skippy said, looking at me. "Boss said he'd called ahead."

"Who?" I said, turning my head to him but my eyes were on the road. We came to another speed bump near Arkham Aslyum - intended probably to keep traffic down around there for the patients on their way in - and I came to a jerky stop near the gates.

"Commissioner Gordon," Skippy said.

I exaggerated my 'oh' to make it sound like I was interested or that I learned something I really, really could not see or figure out on my own. I sped into acceleration and we both were pulled back in our seats a little as I drove to find parking.

"You make my driver's ed test look smooth."


	16. Chapter 16

We found some parking (not a lot of people visited Arkham everyday except the workers). The parking lot was dark with rain except for under the cars that were already there, a dry gravel colour.

I took Skippy inside just as it started to drizzle on the front window of my car and we got visitors badges in record time. As the security guard opened the secure white barred door that meant we were officially in the asylum, we were greeted by, surprise, surprise, Dr. Crane.

"Detective Sparrow," Dr. Crane greeted.

"Thank you for letting us come back on such short notice."

"Not at all." He said, then looked at Skippy.

We went down to the basement straight away.

"Just taking him to re-live things, so he calms down." I said in the elevator.

"A lot of trouble for a rookie." He said when Skippy strayed down the hall a little away from us, unable to hear us.

"His dad's friends with the mayor."

"I... see. Unfortunate."

"C'mon, Skippy," I called.

"What?" He called back.

"I mean, Mark."

* * *

Skippy came to the cell near where the man had ran at him before and stopped. To support him I went over and stood near him. He was trying to breathe calmly.

"He's not going to hurt you. You're perfectly safe." I was going to say he couldn't get out of the glass, but Arkham's been broken out of so many times I couldn't say that.

He breathed out slowly.

"You're right. It's just spooky down here."

I didn't really notice, to be honest. I looked around to see if this was true. I didn't think so.

Two muscled men carried a patient past us and Skippy went white again at the man's drugged out state. I sighed.

I leaned over to him in his space and whispered,

"As long as you're on the straight and narrow, you won't end up like that guy. Got it?"

He nodded quickly. I smirked and I took us back up to ground level.

"Thank you for your time, Dr. Crane." I was already walking to the receptionist's desk, so eager to get out and go back to the Davis case. Mark seconded my thanks.

"Of course, Mr," Dr. Crane read the name tag on his shirt. "Dean. Try to have clear dreams from now on."

I paused where I was in front of the receptionist, not too far away from them, my back to them. Many had noticed the bags under Mark's eyes, but knowing it was specifically nightmares?

I would have thought I was reading too much into it, that it might have been a saying, but he said it with a very knowledgeable air - without any doubt.

I took Skippy out by the arm and practically threw him into the car.

"We're not going back there, ever. Even if you need to de-sensitize some more." I said while putting on my seatbelt.


	17. Chapter 17

I watched GNN - Gotham News Network - on television, where it played Gordon's press conference, then cut to the female reporter talking about it. I put the communal division television on mute, making everyone protest loudly. I ignored them and went to my desk, but nobody got up to un-mute it. I had only just seen Gordon's press release the second day after it was aired on the morning he gave it. I hadn't seen it before today. It looked different looking at it in their perspective, the media.

I paced near my computer, trying to think of everything we knew so far and it's potential deductions, a fist against my lips. Everybody quietly worked at their desk on paperwork. Someone picked up the phone saying quietly,

"Hello?"

* * *

I was on the train with my hoodie up as the train smoothly jogged us forward and back.

"Next stop, Gotham Central,"

I got off at that stop to go home.

* * *

I figured out as I fell asleep the night I got back from getting Skippy to Arkham and back that Dr. Crane probably knew what fear looked like. He worked with unstable patients all the time. He probably read fear on a face and recognized disturbed mental states just by looking at someone. I wondered if he saw anything when he looked at me. He probably talked to patients who had nightmares all the time. I had a feeling this was right, and it also made the most logical sense.

* * *

I waited by the floodlights for a full half hour, working myself up into a state, before I thought that I may be needed downstairs. But they could wait. I was calling for the Batman. And he _would _come, even if I had to force it mentally.

I turned around and didn't feel fright when I saw Batman suddenly appear, after all I was waiting for his appearance and I sighed, turning off the floodlights like flushing a toilet.

"We need something new," I said.

"What do you mean," he said in his deep, altered voice.

"It's been too long without us moving. We're stagnant, we're going to lose her." I was very upset about this. This is why I hated working with other people, I lose my chances to successfully slay, and of course, find the girl. (Haha I'm so funny). But both are the same thing to me. It didn't help we had no leads.

"I'm workin' on it."

"We need something more," I said, emotional. "We need something high tech, we need something bigger than Gotham she - she may not even be IN Gotham!" I sucked in a breath of air excitedly, the wind in the roof and the rush of the chase and the frustration all going on inside of me.

"You may be right," He didn't finish his sentence but I was already interrupting him.

"You have no jurisdiction!" He could go find her! God I was so jealous. Wait, no I wasn't, he was going to bring her back and I could somehow take credit for finding her, or something. Without hurting the Batman, of course. But I wasn't really feeling envy in my chest, it was more of a mental envy.

I sighed, feeling my crash coming and the tiredness setting into my limbs. I raised my hand to cover my eyes, my hand splayed on my hip bone. I pulled my head away from my hand and saw emptiness where Batman had previously been standing. I turned around looking everywhere into the night, but I couldn't see him. All that was around me was Gotham's buildings, some taller than the police station and others smaller, and the night sky.


	18. Chapter 18

It'd been another three days, and nothing. No leads, no claims - by that, I mean, no ransoms. It was the first time as well, quite delayed I realized, that I realized Mr. and Mrs. Davis must be feeling awful. But the money was pouring in - a trust find to find Sherry was the focus of the socialite world. We were getting calls and letters, some demanding that we find her, some trying to bribe us into finding her - as if we weren't doing that already. Some even threatened us to find her. Weirdos. As if the pressure of the media wasn't enough, in my opinion. But this case was on my mind all the time. It was so odd. My division were now livened up by the media attention. Everyone was energized - taking calls, filing papers, doing reports. Today I actually saw Langley do some work. It's always so irritating when someone doesn't do their job. I got the benefit of no irritation at work today. It was nice, but also, I didn't know what to do with it. I was annoyed anyway that they were doing their jobs for the wrong reason - so they can get a spotlight in the media. 'Whoever found her first'. I know it's my case. They know it's my case. They shouldn't touch it. But that's too logical for them, isn't it?

My suspicion from the very beginning proved to be correct. There was something else going on. From the start it wasn't a typical missing person's case. No signs of struggle, no personal belongings missing (to indicate running away), and she was not the usual type of victim. Of course, anyone can become a victim, because it depends on the type of person to violate the law and there are so many different types of people. However the only cause for motive is for ransom, yet that hasn't happened, and the theory didn't hold water in the first place. If someone wanted money, they could have chosen a dozen more children of more wealthy families. Why that one? Which leads me to believe this case is unusual. I'm going to let any of my nosy colleagues in on that though. They walk past my desk and 'subtly' try to look at my files, my computer screen, and just generally at what I'm doing but it's everyone's nose leaning over my desk when they get up to get things like a stapler or hole puncture, or a few paper clips when that is all available to them at their own desks. It's gotten to the point where I close my tabs and database on my computer, put my files away in a carrier bag and put a magazine on my desk. People accuse me of not doing my work. But I'd rather they think that then get anything on my case. I take the carrier bag home and work on the files there. Because I have my own key and password, I can access the police database online from my home. I try not to think about hackers as I do this.

I've heard no word from the Batman and that's disappointing and anti-climatic. I hope he's working on something. I'm anxious to see if he has anything. But Batman is one man above the law in this city so he's probably terribly busy all the time. I was home one night and decided to call up a friend. I had the urge to talk to someone, just socialize, you know? I opened up my contact book that was a present however many Christmas' ago from an aunt or something and in there was my mom and emergency services, which I put right at the front just in case. I sighed. I didn't have the phone to put contacts in, all fancy and _mobile _- technology will be the death of us one day, we're all human and if we have a 'secure' network, whose doing the securing? And anything made by humans had human error - it was the nature of all things. Don't bring me into that equation, please, it takes me hours to rationalize my way out of it so I feel better. So I can feel okay with my imperfection. Anyway. If we rely on something that is imperfect, it's going to fail us and most noticeably over the small things, it's going to fail us in a big way when we need it most, mostly because, at least I can't think of, it hasn't been tested in such situations before. Which is why one has to have a backup plan.

I put my eyebrows against my fingertips as I sit on my couch. The living room was warm and nice, but I wanted a break from work. Work, work, work. Blehhh. Maybe watching TV would be entertaining?

I got up to look for the remote - not remembering where it was - when I remembered I didn't even have a remote. So I turned the TV on manually.

"-Bruce Wayne's fundraiser for Harvey Dent, and, now, onto more news -"

The power went out.

Not making a groan or an utterance of complaint, I got up and went to find my matches in the second right drawer from the fridge. I got out the candles and waiting a few seconds to see if the power will come back on, I lit the candles. The room looked familiar to me again from the dark, alien house I was in just now and I put the candles on my coffee table. I put my hands on my hips and sighed decidedly, planning my next course of action.

My mind went to Dr. Jonathan Crane, as it had been for a while. Here and there he would be in my thoughts. I would just see his image, and think about him. How odd, I'd think each time I'd observe it. But I was consciously aware of it - consciously aware for a few days now. Just as this came to me, I swore in my head. He must be the same as me, because I didn't notice anyone for personal reasons. Jonathan Crane was _fine. _He was really, really nice to look at. But it was more than that. I liked him on some level. As usual, it took me days and days to figure that out. I wondered if I could go on a date with him. Would that be fun? Or would he talk about the asylum all the time. That's unimaginative, of course he can talk about other things. I found it hard to picture.

The idea of going on a date with Dr. Crane was appealing for a while, until my head got in the way. Providing details, getting frustrated over the little things, trying to decide if he was going to be like this or like this. No. This was horrible. I had to get my mind off this.

Wasn't working.

Quick. Or I'll make the whole thought unappealing altogether. And I don't find too many things appealing. Quickly.

Just then the power came back on. I looked at my lights before I blew out my candles. I sat down on my couch and put my foot up on the coffee table, twin plumes of smoke rising in front of the alight television.

"Tell me, Reeves, what do you think they'll be wearing tonight?" said the mocha skinned female reporter to a gay, well dressed man.

"Um, well, Lesley, tonight's the night, you know. Spring's in season, so blue's, yellow's, chiffon, all that kind of stuff. Flowing skirts, cardigans, it's all light and airy this fashion season," he said to the beautifully smiling reporter. She brought the microphone to her mouth again,

"Thanks Reeves, and just think, what do you think Bruce Wayne's next stunt will be? We all know how last week he whisked those ballerina's off on an exotic sailing ride - what do you think he'll do tonight?" The microphone was handed back over underneath the man's mouth.

"Uh, I honestly don't know, Lesley, we all know Wayne, playboy millionaire," He laughed nervously. "he'll do whatever he fancies next. Pun intended," He joked, laughing and soothing his dark green neck scarf. Lesley broke out into giggles.

"Thanks for your input, Reeves," She said with a bright smile.

He answered with an equally bright smile,

"No problem, Lesley."

That was his cue to leave and Lesley turned to the camera and the camera cut to an elder gentlemen who gave the weather report. After that, the camera cut back to Lesley and she was talking with someone at a desk in a studio.

"Do you think Bruce Wayne will talk about Sherry Davis tonight at the fundraiser?"

"Uh, you know, Lesley," began the aging man slowly. "I can't say for sure, you know, if you mention it, you're going to have the whole world's eyes on you,"

"As if Bruce Wayne isn't accustomed to that!" joked the female reporter.

The man chuckled.

"And if you don't mention it, you look... I don't want to say _heartless, _but, you have to mention something like that at such a big fundraiser."

Another man she was sitting with cut in,

"As if the billionaire would even watch the news. He doesn't care about anything serious, or that actually matters. He doesn't even run Wayne Enterprises for God's sake! He only cares about himself, his cars, and women."

"Uh, alright, Jim," placated the female reporter subtly, shifting the conversation. "Larry, do you think if Bruce mentioned the recent kidnapping -"

"Missing person's case." I interrupted with a droning voice from my couch.

"-that he would be scoring political points?"

Larry, the aging man, chuckled slowly at the heavy question and rubbed his jaw.

"I think - " He began.

"Political points?" The other man interrupted. "Lesley, this man burnt down his own home in a drunken stupor. He doesn't care about political points."

"So then - " began Lesley.

"He's probably in with the DA. They do have a name for him you know, 'two face'? He might have Bruce Wayne under his thumb and you don't know it,"

Lesley and Larry laughed.

"Well if I had Bruce Wayne under my thumb I'd be letting him throw me fundraisers all the time!"

Larry and Jim chuckled.

The three faced the camera at the same time.

"That's it. More news, tonight at 10."

I wish I had a remote to turn the TV off on cue. But I just stood up from my couch and changed the channel manually. I watched some guy bat a cricket ball, then a woman pour cranberry juice into a pan, narrating her actions, then another news channel. I turned the TV off, the room going silent and went back to my work, deciding my break was over.

* * *

I heard something. It sounded like a song. It was irritating in fact.

At first I thought it was coming from outside, or a neighbour's apartment. It didn't sound like my morning alarm. When it didn't stop, I looked up from my report and scanned my apartment with my eyes for the source of the cacophony. I saw something light up from my jacket pocket, and I realized it was my phone. I jumped out of my chair quickly, leaping over the coffee table, scrambling to find the lip of my pocket then pulling out the phone and flipping it open just before the ringtone was about to stop.

I held it to my ear silently.

I waited a second.

"Hello?" I said quietly, like I was spooked.

"Sparrow." I heard on the other line. "It's Jim Gordon."

"How did you get my phone?" I said lowly. I wondered why I was trying to lower my voice. I planned to keep my voice at normal level when I next spoke.

"Police records," He said dismissively. "I know it's after hours, Detective," I looked at the clock. It said 7pm. "But I'm calling in a favor."

I raised my back so it was straight and put my hand on my waist.

"Name it." I said. 'as long as it's within reason', I added in my mind.

"Bruce Wayne's fundraiser's tonight, and I need a few officers at the event."

"_Why_?" It came out instantly and without my regulation at all - I was completely perplexed.

"It's Bruce Wayne," Gordon chuckled. "He selected us to be around as extra guard."

"Extra guard against what?" I couldn't help but ask, again in my perplexed voice, but it was quieter this time.

Gordon chuckled like he understood the thinking behind my tone. I could imagine him humbly shuffling.

"When it's Bruce Wayne, more money than God, and he wants you somewhere, he gets the Mayor to get you to go down there."

"Okay," I said, agreeing. "When's the fundraiser?"

"It begins in a few hours. Ten, I believe."

"Oh." And what time would I get home? Would this disrupt my circadian rhythm?

"I think he's paranoid from the recent kidnapping case - "

"Missing person's."

He took the correction easily.

"Aha, you're right, we don't know that yet. Missing person's, I think if you're in a glass room high up in the air full of the rich and famous at a time like this, you'll want some extra protection there."

...But I was a detective.

"I don't have any muscle, Gordon."

Gordon chuckled.

"Bruce Wayne asked only for me to be there and a few that I trusted, and one of them, is you."

"Okay, so Edwards is going too?"

"Yeah... I called him, he's not picking up."

"Weird. Okay, sir, so you want me to get dressed in my police uniform or am I required to wear something to blend in?"

"Uh, he never specified. I think uniform is fine. That is what I'll be doing."

"Okay."

"Okay. Bye."

The phone hung up before I realized I didn't know where the party was going to be held. I went to look it up on my computer.


	19. Chapter 19

Just-Me-and-My-Brain: Thank you for pointing that out. Yes, this is set in the Dark Knight. At the beginning of my story when I published it I had that in the summary, but then a few chapters ago I thought that wasn't important and I took that out. This is set in Dark Knight, with a bit of AU from Batman Begins.

Thank you for the reviews.

* * *

"Commissioner Gordon, thank you _so _much for coming," said Wayne as he shook Gordon's hand. The way he said it made it sound like he was really laying it on too thick.

"Of course, Mr. Wayne," said Gordon, fingers on his hips and surveying the high ceiling'd room. "Safety first."

Wayne looked over our small team then to Gordon to who he leaned in slightly and said quietly,

"With the Joker... and the," Wayne lifted his hand to his head, twirling it to indicate the 'crazy' sign. "Bat,"

Gordon nodded.

"I understand." He said patiently.

Wayne moved away into the party and Gordon turned to me, fingers still on his hips, whispering from narrow lips,

"Didn't think he'd show up to his own party," He chuckled good naturedly. "Quite an entrance, wasn't it?"

"Typical," smirked Ramirez next to me, a member of Gordon's trusted police unit. I spied Wartz heading towards the elevator in the corner of my eye. He wasn't part of Gordon's 'trusted' team, but Gordon had to make up for Edwards' absence. Neither was Ramirez, but Gordon couldn't protect a room with two or three people.

"Gordon," spoke Ramirez. Gordon's attention was snagged and he followed Ramirez down a corridor away from the general party populace. I lingered where my post was, near a door.

The elevator opened and I watched the police officer there turn towards it. Wartz stood there with his badge up.

"We made it," I heard before Wartz was shoved out of the way. My hand calmly went to my gun. The Joker stepped out of the elevator and fired a few rounds from an automatic at the ceiling. As the party guests screamed from the bullet sounds, I pulled my hand away from the gun holster. I spied a pot plant behind me and I pulled out my gun from its holster and put it in the pot plant. Joker's goons circled the room with their own guns pointing. One of them went up to me, kicked my leg until I fell onto my knees and barked at me to put my hands on my head. I did so. He searched for my gun.

"Ladies and gentle_men,_" said the Joker, walking into the center of the room where a wide circle had cleared and everyone was at the circumference of the room, except that Joker's goons were controlling how wide the circle was.

"Anyone seen Harvey? Harvey Dent?"

The man had large hands and on his left thumb, even through his black leather glove, I could feel half of it was missing. When he saw I wasn't armed he stood and grunted at me, pushing the tip of the gun at my head before keeping it hovering near me. Wartz was down, face down, on the floor, badge still in hand. Two goons marched out of the hallway Gordon and Ramirez went, carrying the unconscious two with them and letting them fall to the floor. But no one was paying attention to them, only Joker in the center who was still talking,

"You know, I'll settle for his loved ones."

I searched with my eyes for Bruce Wayne, but I couldn't find him. I couldn't see Harvey Dent either.


	20. Chapter 20

"We aren't intimidated by thugs like you." A few heavy clinks. Where I was kneeling I was behind the curtain of people. I peeked at the pot plant behind me.

"You know, you remind me of my father. I HATED my father."

"Enough," I didn't recognize the female voice, but my gun was back in hand. The thug was so focused on what was going on in the middle he forgot to periodically check me like he'd been so good about in the beginning. It was classic human behavior. Laziness. Once something is checked several times and turned out to be fine, they stop checking, which works out to my advantage.

"You must be Harvey's _squeeze. _And you_ are _beautiful_,"_ I looked for a window of opportunity to get out of this vulnerable position and take charge of the situation. I'd need a distraction, and the plan was - ignorantly to me - overly ambitious with just one person. I couldn't be the whole team, the distraction AND the leader. Crap.

As I listened to what ensued in the Joker's speech, I sweated. I hadn't been anxious before, but now my mind was racing with ways to get out. And I might not. The apprehension was killing me, and this thug was so stupid I could SEE the three things wrong in his stance and yet I couldn't do anything about it or correct it so he could do it properly this whole thing was killing me. This thug might actually kill me from his bad stance. Who knows, in breaking out if this whole thing someone might bump into him, he'll fall from his bad center and then shoot me in the face.

Wow, I sounded really illogical just now. Best stuff that away and never look at it again.

_Shoot me in the face? _I criticized myself. _Specifically, the face?_

Automatically I calculated in my head that it was statistically more likely that he shoot me anywhere below the face in the event he falls in the way I imagine, most likely my lower torso or leg. I hope not. God I want to get out of here, it's so boring.

"Ooh - got a little fight in you, I like that."

Then I heard a dark, familiar voice.

"Then you're gonna love me,"

The whole room broke out into chaos and in a split second I reversed the thug's and my positions then hit him with the barrel of my gun over his head. I could have used his gun, but, I prefer using my stuff over his that's been bought with illegal money. And it touched him.

Everyone was rushing with panic to the elevator, and pretty much disappearing from the center where the Joker, the Batman and the Joker's henchmen faced off. I was looking with my eyes for my unit, cocking my gun again, not noticing that with the barrel of people flooding to the elevator that I was exposed.

Nobody noticed however as they were so focused on the battle. I knew I couldn't do anything without Gordon's command and the elevator was like a mosh pit, I had to get out another way. Unlike most people, I didn't dismiss what was crazy.

And then the opening happened.

"Let her go," said the Batman. Ooh, he had genuine worry in his eyes.

"Very poor choice of words," smiled the Joker, then Rachael Dawes was let go out of the window.

Batman dove after her and in a split second I was running across half the room like a bullet and crashed through the broken window, and I fell out in slow motion, some cracked glass breaking off like crinkled snow onto the shoulder of my jacket before a whole world opened up underneath me to swallow me whole. After that it pretty much went faster than I liked. I free fell, the windows of buildings blurring past, my arms in a criss cross in front of my face. The air was blowing up harshly past my face and I fought to bring the air back to my lungs. Batman was trying to slow down Rachael and his descent, I wasn't. I fell onto Batman, who had Dawes. Batman grunted at my added weight.

Nonetheless he adapted and had us both. Rachael was screaming. We were going to land on a taxi. I didn't know how the fall would be. I closed my eyes, because apparently that was meant to help. I was truly scared inside.

We landed and I think it was Batman's batsuit that saved our lives otherwise Rachael and I would have probably been seriously hurt. I don't believe for a second it was Batman's arm that magically stopped us from breaking our spines.

* * *

The Joker stepped away boredly from the window after Batty fell, waving his gun about a bit. The next second a police officer streaked past him and flew out the window. His face followed her, his look saying, 'who was _that_?'


	21. Chapter 21

I had a feeling throughout that night that the Sherry Davis case would be put on hold. And I was right. Joker took the headline news and all the media attention. After he crashed Wayne's party, Gordon had to completely focus on catching and incriminating him, leaving the Sherry Davis case on the back burner for a while. Since I wasn't in the Major Crimes Unit, I didn't have to work on the Joker case. I focused on my case.

They were mourning the previous Comissioner Lobe today. They were going to do it right after his death, but the date had been pushed forward to today. The rumor around here was that the Mayor jumped with both feet in to promote Jim Gordon right after the Commissioner Lobe's death at the hands of the Joker. There were a lot of jokes about it.

The news said that judges were also being killed or bombed and I was wondering what was happening to everybody. I wasn't too surprised however, the Joker was just a reflection. He was the large, noticeable pimple that told everyone what was happening underneath the skin of Gotham. It was the surrounding conditions that allowed him to flourish and be who he is today in our city. I wondered for a brief moment why I lived in Gotham, for the crime, the corruption and the craziness. Then I remembered my reason and I took a big bite of my egg and watercress sandwich. I was a vegetarian. I grew up a vegetarian, and although I'd been curious about meat I just didn't like the taste nor that it was a dead animal. An animal that did not die of natural causes. When I moved away from my parents I just... forgot about meat, I guess. I just ate the same way I'd always eaten.

This sandwich I got from a small supermarket while I ate it in my car. I kept an eye on Judge Surillo's house. Judge Surillo was dead, and I was not on the Major Crimes Unit, but I was literally right here because of the convenience store.

It was a choice to participate in the march for Commissioner Lobe's death, I opted out due to 'sickness'. But it was true, I had a headache from all this Joker stuff and how it took away opportunities and help for my case, for finding a little girl that everybody forgot about as soon as a painted face hit breaking news.

* * *

News came later today that Comissioner Gordon was killed. I was so angry. I was angry I didn't get to finish with him before he died. I was completely blinded by irrational anger that it was only an hour later when my head cleared and I forgot about it that I noticed my sneaking suspicion that Gordon was not dead. Gordon didn't just die. That's why I picked him - he's strong.

As much as I hate it when I pick someone, because my mind becomes consumed by it, and plotting ways to.. do... something... with them, at this point in time this kept me strong. This single minded focus helped me to not grieve about his death, it helped me to think clearly. I got on my computer at the police station, Gotham Tonight's episode from the night before blaring on the TV behind me, and looked at the evidence again and ran through the theories I've made. I mentally crossed out a few which were obviously wrong, and I sat staring at the information Batman gave us.

* * *

The Batman was unavailable and didn't help me whatsoever anymore. I understood it was because he was teaming up with Gordon to catch the Joker, which I knew wouldn't happen until the Joker wanted it to. I felt nothing at being on the case that was no longer national news - although everyone in my unit pretty much dropped it. They returned to their lazy selves, unless there was talk of the 'crazy' Joker, sipping coffee at their desks and reading the newspaper.

While everyone's attention was distracted however, I found it easier to work without the attention.

At sometime this last week, a new thought came to me. If Gordon was dead, and even if he wasn't, there must be bigger prey out there. What about the Batman to target?

That was so cliche. I didn't want to target the Batman because that's what everyone else is doing.

At the same time, it was appealing because there was competition. And if I did it, then I'd be the first to and the only one too. It all depended though, if it was worth the effort and the consequences, neither of which occurred to me. It was only late one night when I was laying in bed did I think of people's reaction to 'what I'd done'. It took a while, but then I thought about how if the Batman was taken out or somehow impaired, by me, he wouldn't be able to help people.


	22. Chapter 22

Just a reminder, this is AU in Batman Begins and the Dark Knight. There are things that are similar to the original timeline, but there are also changes.

I made some changes to this document because I realized later that some things were confused and could be explained better. My timeline needed some correcting too.

* * *

The Joker was in police custody. People clapped for Jim Gordon when he walked through having the Joker handcuffed. I came down to see the Joker in the flesh. I stood from the back, my arms lazily folded, my head tilted and my back slouched while everyone crowded round to take a look at him. He was not as tall as I thought, and oddly human. There was never a shot on his home made videos he put up on everyone's TV's of his full height, but I didn't have the impression he was average height to slightly short height. He was sitting down, however. Everyone was talking about the Joker and I was practically unseen, invisible and ignored. As I looked at the Joker, it occurred to me that the man probably came from a small town somewhere, run down, forgotten, had numerous opportunities for crime. That's probably where he learnt his stuff. Then later he comes to Gotham for the big leagues, figures he's got something bigger to show. Goes when he's old enough. Probably an abusive home. As the statistics and characteristics run through my head, I think about them. I grew up in a city much like Gotham, but smaller and not infested with crime. So I was lucky, I didn't have to adjust when I moved to Gotham at 23. I was now 25. My age was the main reason some people mistook me for being a rookie, even after being here for two years. The older police officers called me 'rookie' still. I thought about the Joker adjusting to a bigger city. I remember the faces of the people who have told me stories of what it's like to adjust, their feelings. This man went through that. Not so emotionally, because he had a cause, but it's there. I turned and went back to my unit, intent on finishing my report.

The Joker was clapping at Gordon for his assessment on what was in his pockets.

* * *

I stared at my screen at the other girls abducted, the same age and on the same date as Sherry Davis. I had the three girl's information split side by side on my screen. I was stuck. Completely stuck. I hoped for a breakthrough.

"Stuck?" said Donovan when he saw me staring at the computer screen. He threw over a file onto my desk. He smirked at me.

"Ahm too busy, but that don't mean boss's gotta know that."

"This file says Rachael Dawes, and this one, Harvey Dent,"

"Who's MIA," Donovan gave me a look.

"Harvey's _MIA_?" I said, confused.

Donovan looked at me as he sat down at his own desk.

"Harvey never made it home last night. Gordon's questionin' the Joker now, but," He shook his head, rolling up his sleeves. "Who knows if he'll get anythin' from him. Got us on investigation in case the clown doesn't talk."

I didn't like unexpected things falling in my lap, especially when I was stuck and trying to figure something out. It made it very difficult for me to focus. Ihad a small emotional upset, okay it wasn't small, but it was internal with only a small pinch in my brow showing as I picked up the file and swivelled to my computer, clicking the mouse.

"And I guess that Rachael's also missing?"

"You got it,"

"I'll get right on it," I murmured in thought. I added, "I don't know if I'll find anything. They haven't been gone 24 hours yet."

"Right. Look at the tapes, try to see who took them 'home'."

I was ahead of him, but I didn't correct him. I was glad I didn't. It took me a long time to learn not to correct people. It was the bane of my life. Thankfully I've learned now and I don't get in as much trouble or have as much frustration over it. I hate it when people are incorrect, or have incorrect information. Not exactly great in the police business, because witnesses and suspects lie, but I'm able to ignore it a lot. It's only sometimes it gets me.

* * *

I walked down to the MCU with a few pieces of paper in my hand. In the middle of investigating where Rachael and Harvey were, I remembered something about an old case of mine. The man was filed as homicidal criminal, so that's why he was filed in Major Crimes Unit, not in Missing Persons, but I was struck with an idea for my case. I came down the dim stairway with my eyes down in thought. Everyone was walking around, doing things. There was a wall with a wide window through the hallway at shoulder height where we could see the people int he jail. I was so lost in thought I didn't notice the Joker look at me when I passed to get to the filing room with the proper filing cabinet.


	23. Chapter 23

I changed the last chapter because my timeline was a bit confused, I had to straighten it out. I also had it make more sense because I felt it wouldn't be understood in combination with this chapter, which also has to be changed. Chapter 22 has to be read again if you read the previous version if you want to understand anything from now on in this story.

* * *

The Joker broke out of MCU with Lau in tow. Gordon was pissed. Harvey Dent was in hospital. I felt a little overwhelmed and affected by all these happenings. I felt unsettled when the judges were blown away, but now that the DA and his assistant were gone too, or half gone in Dent's case, it was very disconcerting as a citizen and a member of the police force.

I was upstairs when the explosion went off at MCU. Our entire floor rocked. I could feel the foundation shaking. I was far enough away from the explosion that I wasn't hurt, but I did fly from my desk and my things scattered everywhere. I got up, more concerned that my papers were everywhere than my safety. The emergency services arrived ten minutes later and found me at my desk, looking normal, trying to organize my information on my desk again. Someone came over to give me a breathing mask and to check me over. It finally sank in that the police department was bombed, and then I went into shock. I lost nearly all of my hearing in my right ear from the explosion.

Gordon suddenly went mum on Harvey and Rachael. I never found the files on Harvey or Rachael again.

The week was suddenly very busy. Everything was moving so fast at the police station. I slept like a log at night. At the end of the week, Harvey Dent was pronounced dead - killed by the Batman, as I heard on the TV in my apartment.

"He didn't kill Harvey Dent," I said immediately as I put an aluminum foil wrapped baking sheet in the oven.


	24. Part II - Chapter 24

Things in Gotham quietened down. The Batman was made a villain. Lesser news that everyone wasn't focusing on, the Joker was caught and sent to Arkham Aslyum. But everyone was more focused on how the Batman turned out to be a bad guy after all. Something that came from Harvey's death was the Dent act.

Bruce Wayne became a recluse. My job didn't get any easier, despite all the changes going on. Things just became less eventful and dramatic for a while.

A year passed. I never solved that case of Sherry Davis. When I look at her picture pinned on my board of unsolved cases, I feel like I'm still there within the first two weeks of her disappearance. There were a few more pictures next to her than there were before, and I thought about them as I drove home.

With my promotion to full detective, my salary increased, and I stopped taking the train home at night because I was able to afford a new car with better gas mileage.

I'm a person who's life revolved around my work, so not much else changed in my personal life. I saw some people in my unit go and some new people arrive. None of them were as experienced as the people before them but they made up for it in passion, some of them, anyway. One of the new guys was the niece to my boss. His desk is right behind mine. But the guy who eats pie with a fork is still here. The one guy I want to retire or quit or leave or be replaced. He's still here.

But my boss eventually left, too. She got married, went to live in another state with the guy. My new boss was a man in his 40's, who smoked old fashioned cigars and liked to read the newspaper. He had a picture of his teenage daughter on his desk in sepia. I hate sepia. I noticed it on the first time I went into his office. He was a nice guy. I'm grateful for the change.

A while later, he resigned. The reason was unknown but that didn't mean the rumors weren't rife with speculation. Gordon had a tough time at home. There wasn't as much crime as there used to be, but he was still wary. I took his behavior as confirmation of my suspicions that the Batman didn't really kill Harvey Dent. People laughed behind Gordon's back that he was getting old and senile, but really, he wasn't that old. His wife took his son and they left for Cleveland. I was surprised, and I felt bad for him. I'd long forgotten about trying to sabotage Gordon and his family - it faded away like it was taken from my memory.

My boss's position currently wasn't filled, but they were looking for someone to replace him. People were becoming cops, but, they didn't have the same experience as they used to due to lower crime rates and they also didn't have as much alertness as they did before. In a city with high crime, everyone is sharp. As the months went on, turning into a year, I could see the bottom of the police force being filled with hot air and dumb police officers.

I picked up the phone at my desk,

"Missing person's unit,"

I listened to the person on the other end of the phone. I rubbed my hand over my eyes. My other hand put the phone down. I was prank called more than I got actual cases. It made me bored. When I got bored - well, I've never been bored before. At first my job was never any lighter but now, I was sitting at my desk with nothing to do for most of the day. In the beginning, relaxing was nice but now?

I watched a new recruit come in at noon. Noon. His job is to be here at 8am every morning. I'm the only one that still keeps routine. Everyone else comes in later these days. The cold Gotham mornings now also include an empty office. I don't mind being alone, but I'm bothered that my job isn't what it used to be.

I'm sitting on a bench one day in the middle of the day. It's my day off, but it doesn't feel any different than my work day simply because I'm doing nothing. Before, I'd never have a break. After the Dent act, I've got nothing to do. Today I thought I'd get some fresh air and I found myself on a bench.

I felt a thump on the empty part of the bench and I ignored the person sitting there. I didn't want to seem rude. Things had gotten so relaxed that I didn't even care to look at who sat next to me on a bench in public. Now that's incredible.

I lazily looked, just so that I could have peace of mind (I'm still not out of the habit of being careful), and what I saw made me do a double take.

"Dr. _Crane_?"

He smiled lazily at me.

"Hi."

I looked him over. He was wearing a black suit, he had a 5 o'clock shadow of stubble on his face, and he had a grocery bag with a bottle of amber alcohol in his hand.

"What..." I began, but was unable to finish the sentence.

He sighed, looking into the street.

"I was fired from my job."

"At Arkham?" I clarified.

He smiled for a split second, scoffing through his nose.

"Yeah,"

"...What are you doing here?" I asked eventually.

He shook his head, looking about Gotham.

"I don't know... I was just... wandering," He raised his hand up, put it down, his lips down turned at the corners. "Thought I'd... have a drink," He looked at his bottle, raising it up. "then I... found a bench... and lookee, here you are!" He looked like he just saw me.

"Hi," I said with a forced smile.

"Hi," He dragged it out.

I stood up.

"Where do you live?"

He gestured around him with a finger in a circle.

"Around here."

"Uh huh."

"Or... over there, maybe."

"Yeah."

"Or, that way."

"Mmhm. Alright, mister, get up." I hoisted him up with his arm over my shoulder. "God you stink."


	25. Chapter 25

I was reluctant to take him home so I took him to a hotel. He may have said that he lived around here and while it was plausible, it was also doubtful. I was a police officer and it was second nature to disbelieve anything anyone said in Gotham, especially to an officer and especially a man that I've caught lying before. The man did it like a fish breathing water.

With great reluctance, I paid for the man's stay. While he stood drunkenly lounging against the receptionist's desk, I ran through his pockets and his wallet contained no money or credit cards. I wondered if it was even his wallet, if it was even his coat. I hate giving my money to anyone, but I hate even more the idea of him being in my home and taking up even more of my resources. When weighed his stay at a hotel consumed less of my resources and therefore my involvement, so I went with that. I looked at the check in invoice she gave me at my request, with the amount printed darkly on the bottom. Good grief.

I slammed the back of my hand on Jonathan's back to get him moving towards the elevator. He sloppily moved with me. I kept him in front of me. I'll admit some of my police attitude and demeanor naturally came through. Jonathan practically sagged on the elevator bannister before the elevator's dinged shut.

Alone in the elevator with him in our ascent, I wrinkled my nose while we faced the elevator doors.

"Good God man, you stink."

"Ya know, you don't sound from around here," He pointed out with a slur in his voice and a slight uncontrolled squeak in his voice. He looked at me from across the elevator.

I pinned my eyes to the left away from him at the red velvet wall, thinking that the answer to that question was obvious. If I clearly didn't sound like I was from here, then I clearly wasn't. Dickhead. It wasn't an accent, it was word choice. I didn't speak like I was native to this town, and duh, I wasn't. I would never change my manner of speaking to fit in either.

I realized for the first time that I just checked him into a high end hotel. Oh well, can't get a refund. In this side of town there are no shabby motels or shacks to rent.

Jonathan looked up at the glowing numbers above us that showed what floors we were passing. He adjusted his glasses and squinted at them.

The elevator buoyed gently then pinged open. I put my hand on Jonathan's back and escorted him down the hall. He grew interested in an elderly couple passing us, and even turned around when they past us but I kept us walking. The woman made a loud unappreciative noise of his smell, and he turned around to watch them go. I stopped us at the twelve white, crisp door and once it was open, pushed him in.

Hurriedly I dumped his coat, which was folded over my arm, onto a chair. Jonathan stood dazedly in the middle of the suite. I bought him one room, nothing extra, no mini bar, no room service, just one room one bathroom. I put down Jonathan's other things and I got a glass which seemed standard for the room and filled it with the vintage looking pitcher. I put it on his bedside table because no doubt this guy was going to be smashed.

"I doubt - you are intelligent enough to know what to do when you wake up with a hangover." I said as I did all this. I didn't have any of those pills I'd heard about to help deal with a hangover, but the man was responsible for his alcohol intake, if he wanted to have an aftermath he needed to have the precaution to deal with it properly as it was inevitable. I quickly pulled my coat tighter around myself. I glanced outside into the broad daylight. I thought about Sherry Davis.

Jonathan sagged into the thick comforter on the bed, head lulled down.

I rounded round the bed and quickly undid the neat laces on his shoes, messily trying to pull them off while he tried to get into bed. I managed to yank the second one off before he got completely under the covers.

"Night night Sparrow." He said. He opened his eyes and took off his glasses. I stood absently and watched him squint at nothing, then rub his eyes and try again. He rolled over to the closest bedside and put his glasses there. I curtly walked around his bed, retrieved the glass of water and put it on the other bedside, since that was the closest and seemingly his favored bedside.

He settled down and seemed to fall asleep on his side. I was confident he would not lie face down and therefore suffocate, or wake up, puke, then fall unconscious into his puke and suffocate, because if recent personality studies were truth, Jonathan was introverted yes but not unconfident in himself or wishing to withdraw from the world entirely, so he would not sleep on his stomach. I had a feeling he wouldn't sleep on his stomach. I calculated with a glance that the bathroom was close enough that he would be able to run to it to relieve his stomach of the alcohol in his system. It was inevitable. It was the first time it occurred to me that I might have to stay with him. The only way out of intoxication, contrary to myth and popular thought, was time. It all depended on the alcohol in his system, and there was no way of knowing unless I had a breath inhalant or a blood test on me. I don't.

I coolly surveyed him lying on the bed. He was smashed.

I didn't want to stay here all day, and I was aware that I committed acts that other people called kind, and were often called unnecessary so I don't like to keep repeating them, but I had a compromise in mind. I walked to his coat which I'd left over the back of a chair and I dug around through it. My memory serves to tell me he did not have a cellphone on him however sometimes when I look for things I miss them even when they're right in front of me so I ventured that double checking was a good idea. My hand went into the inside pocket in the middle of my search and my fingers came into contact with something very rough - so unexpected it was that my hand jumped out of the pocket, my other hand holding it by the wrist as I stared at the limp coat.

With pinched fingers I peeled the lapel of the coat back so that the pocket was visible to me and with the other hand I slid my grip in and attempted to identify the object and if there was a cellphone around it. I am an extremely private person so I can respect someone's privacy. My mother taught me to respect other people's things. I do not have a 'curiosity' that other people do, regarding other people's business, assets and property. It's just a realm that is not my business and I have no personal interest in.

I felt something that felt mechanical and about the side of a small phone so I grabbed it and pulled it out, but a burlap sack came out with it. I looked at the mess that I couldn't identify in my hand. I picked up the burlap sack, which was the rough thing, and attempted to separate it from the metal solid thing in my grip. It would not remove. I opened my palm and the thing, which was more a device than anything, looked like the diagram's I'd seen of the hippocampus in the limbic system of our brain, responsible for our short term and processing short term into long term memory. I looked at it a bit longer. I blinked at it.

My mind was completely blank with coming up with explanations for this, of what it could be and why it would be attached to a burlap sack. I felt like I was greatly intruding a realm of personal space of the man sleeping in the bed. I glanced at him over my shoulder. Despite what my senses were telling me, that his eyes were open and he was watching me, his eyes were closed and his breathing patterns suggested he was unconscious. I returned my eyes to the apparatus, whatever it was, and I tried to put it back into conjunction with the burlap sack that it had been in before, although I knew I failed because I failed to observe the position it came out in. I put it back in the pocket of his coat and stood straight with my hands in my pockets.

So I couldn't get out his phone and find a way for him to contact me. I turned around and searched for a pen. I wrote down the number I called 'my work phone'. I wrote that I found him, paid for one night at the hotel. I paused and thought that perhaps I should advise him to seek medical attention if he should need it, then I thought if he needed medical attention then he would be competent enough to see for himself that he needs it and to seek it out and I should respect his competency enough to trust him to do that, should he see he needs it. I am not in the business of telling him what to do and I'd be greatly intruding and disrespecting him by advising him on something that's so obvious he can figure it out himself. The greatest insult.

I left the key card next to my note. I didn't sign my name, because I figured it was obvious who I was. I didn't wish him well in the note, because I didn't particularly wish him well. I only wanted to write that if I sincerely and truly meant it. And I didn't particularly. Sure I didn't want him unhealthy, but people are responsible for their own affairs and their own health, and I don't see why I should be emotional over it or 'wish' him well or unwell - it was just strange and weird. Wasn't I being a dickhead if I did that? Greatly intruding in his affairs? Yes, I was. And I would not disrespect anyone like that. It's just a base respect you have for people. Why would I want to influence his affairs? Am I suggesting he's too incompetent to keep them at a level that keeps him content? I would be, if I wished him well. I don't even mean it.

When I got outside the overcast sky didn't indicate it would rain soon but I wanted to take a taxi back to my apartment anyway. I didn't feel like walking. I've just expended more energy than I planned to today - a fateful and disturbing truth/pattern about life - and I wanted to get home. I was exhausted.


	26. Chapter 26

When I got home I realized I never turned off my television and it was playing the news. I must have been so lulled into boredom by the lax everything in Gotham I just never bothered to turn the TV off before I went out.

On TV, I saw as I rounded it, were reports of a masked man and the attack on Arkham Aslyum, where a nurse was killed. There was a mug shot of a man in the dark who had something covering his head.

I went to work at usual time and as usual, the anomalies showed up. Everyone came in late, as they always did nowadays. When I finished some paper pushing I had to do, I neatly got up from my desk and went to Major Crimes Unit.

I requested to see Jim Gordon and without waiting for permission from the secretary because I was impatient and it was boring to wait in the tiny little room I knocked on the back door reading 'Comissioner' and twisted the knob to walk inside.

Jim was at his desk, which was rare, but nowadays, common. He looked surprised to see me. He put his pen down.

I closed the door behind me and with his permission I sat down in the chair in front of him.

"Sir, I know who the Scarecrow is." I said calmly.

"...Who?"

"Jonathan Crane. The recently fired director of Arkham."

"...And you are sure of this?"

"Positive, sir."

He looked over me.

"Do you have evidence?"

"No, not with me. But I found the Scarecrow mask in his coat pocket."

He nodded and seemed to mull it over, pulling the lapels of his jacket closer.

"You seem... sure of this."

"...How can I doubt my eyes?" I asked, as if what he was saying was ridiculous. I carried on calmly. "I happened on Dr. Crane in a drunk state, then I got him to a hotel, and I wanted to leave my number in case he needed some extra help, then when I was looking for the phone I found a mask... thing, in his pocket. It looked like a potato sack." I said. I could tell this was going to take some explaining.

"Well, you're the first witness who isn't bumbling and screaming," He muttered rhetorically, sitting back in his chair. "We've had our suspicions with the good doctor of the Aslyum, just no evidence." He laced his fingers together on the table. "I'm afraid even if your story is true, you've got nothing to back it up." He explained gently.

As an idea came to me I banged my hand on the armchair in exclamation.

"I should have taken a picture of it!"

I leaned back in the chair and sighed. I realized my situation.

"I guess I'm going to leave. Since I don't have anything on him."

He nodded.

But then he stood when I went to leave.

"Detective," He called me. I stopped and came back a bit. "Don't give up just yet. Something may come along."

I wasn't worried, but,

"Thank you Commissioner."


End file.
